


Of Defiance

by quantum_leek



Series: Onus [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Badass Regis, Canon Divergent, F/M, Family, Fix-It, Gen, Pre-Canon, Young Love, Young Noctis Lucis Caelum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 173,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22166254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantum_leek/pseuds/quantum_leek
Summary: When Aulea died eleven years ago and Regis vowed to be the best father to their twins as he could be, he had expected crying babies, dirty diapers, parent-teacher conferences, and perhaps cookies for dinner. Never had he imagined tip-toeing around political marriages, facing down puberty, or defying the Astrals for his children's well-being.
Relationships: Clarus Amicitia & Weskham Armaugh & Cor Leonis & Regis Lucis Caelum & Cid Sophiar, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum, Ravus Nox Fleuret/Original Female Character(s), Regis Lucis Caelum & Original Lucis Caelum Character(s), Regis Lucis Caelum/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Onus [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/911466
Comments: 176
Kudos: 76





	1. Late

If there was one thing a king should never be, it was late.

Half a dozen councillors dogged his steps as he swept through marble halls and gilded passageways.

"Your Majesty, we have urgent correspondence from Tenebrae awaiting your review."

"It shall have to wait some hours longer," Regis said.

"It has been two days already!"

Regis glanced to his right, where Clarus strode faithfully at his shoulder. He took the silent command, stepping up to look past Regis to the councillor on his left.

"Correspondence from Tenebrae is hardly a priority at this time," Clarus said. "All such matters must wait for their moment. Or would you have His Majesty set aside considerations of national importance to read a letter?"

"No, Master Amicitia, certainly not." The councillor bowed twice, once to Clarus and once to Regis. "Apologies, Your Majesty." And he disappeared from Regis' left hand side.

"Is my car waiting?" Regis asked.

"Cor has the Regalia at the steps," Clarus said. He opened his mouth a second time, as if to add something more, then thought better of it. No doubt he wished to remind Regis that it was not entirely necessary for him to see to this matter personally. No doubt he had also realized that he would never convince Regis to do otherwise. Once, perhaps. But no longer.

The Crownsguards at the main doors hauled them open as soon as they caught sight of Regis.

"Keep a hold on the council while I am away," Regis said. "I should not like to learn that Aldebrand had pushed the vote to deploy the Kingsglaive to the front in my absence again."

"A one time occurrence, I'm sure," Clarus said. "How long do you expect to be away?"

They exited through the double-tall front doors and began the long descent down the red carpet. At the bottom of the stairs, as promised, was Cor leaning against the Regalia, arms crossed and that perpetual scowl on his face.

"As long as necessary," Regis said.

Clarus followed him down the steps. "And that is how long? An hour? Five hours?"

"A minimum of one hour," Regis said.

Cor pulled the door open for him when they reached the car. Regis dropped inside without another word.

Clarus watched him, mouth pressed in a thin line, before turning to Cor. "Call me if you are delayed for any reason."

Cor shut Regis' door. If he had any response for Clarus, Regis never heard it. A moment later, he slid into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition, bringing the Regalia to life.

"Take us there as fast as is feasible, Cor." Regis ran his fingers along the inside of the door and the edge of the seat. She had never let him down. Today would not be the first. "And if you would be so kind as to silence your phone. I have no doubt people will begin pestering you as soon as they find me unavailable."

Cor reached into his pocket and obligingly silenced his phone. Regis' own phone was turned off—as it usually was. It was a tool for his convenience, not that of others.

Traffic in central Insomnia left much to be desired. If they were later still, it was due to the overabundance of people on the roads and not to any failing on his car's part. Regis tapped his fingers on his arm rest, stared out the window, and counted minutes. He glanced at the clock on the dash. Two fifteen. If he had left fifteen minutes earlier, he would have been on time. Instead he was resigned to being fifteen minutes late and only if the traffic held at moderately slow and never drifted into intolerably delayed. He would have to speak with the city planning committee. Surely there was something to be done about this mess.

At two thirty-five they reached their destination. Cor pulled up along the curb, parking in what was meant to be a loading zone. But the fact that all such loading had concluded some fifteen minutes before combined with the royal crest on the outside of the car ensured that no one took issue with Cor's parking job.

When Cor opened the door, Regis climbed out and took the paved walkway between the wide lawns, which was dotted with some few children and adolescents. Cor followed, keeping one step behind and half a step to the right. There was something refreshing about a school. Most of the children didn't know who he was—or else they didn't care. Those who both knew and cared were too shy to admit either. He made it through the entrance without any further impediments.

From the entrance hall, the corridors swept to either side and opened up before him into a wide courtyard, separated from the inside only by a series of open arches. In the courtyard were a handful of children, though only two interested him. At the moment, however, they were engaged in conversation with the others.

A child with pale brown hair and an abundance of freckles was speaking. "My mother says that the empire is going to win. She says the empty soldiers are invincible and that we can never beat them."

"That isn't true." Reina didn't often contradict people. Even now she avoided eye-contact with the brown-haired boy and rubbed her hands over her arms while she spoke. "They aren't invincible and even if they were, we would still win. We don't need to beat their army."

"Of course we do. That's how you win a war," said a girl with a pair of glasses and a ponytail. "Haven't you ever played Clash of Kings?"

Reina glanced at the other girl, then away. "It isn't like that."

"What is it like, then?" Asked the freckled boy eagerly. "You must know everything going on with the war, right?"

"No, I don't. I just know…" Reina hesitated. "I just know we're not going to lose and we're not going to beat their army."

"Huh? How could you know that?" He asked.

Reina's nails dug into her arm. "I… um…"

Up until that point, Noctis had stood by in silence without giving any indication of following the conversation. Now he stepped forward and in front of Reina. "She just knows, okay? Leave her alone."

Reina seemed to shrink behind him. The other two children looked taken aback.

"Geeze, alright," the freckled boy said. "I was just asking."

They both gave one more curious glance to Noctis and Reina before pulling themselves away and disappearing into the surrounding halls.

Once they were gone, Noctis turned around, hugging Reina around the neck. "Okay?"

"Mm. Mhm."

Noctis' eye caught on Regis, standing in the shadows just outside the courtyard.

"Dad!"

Reina pulled away and turned, wide-eyed, to look at him. He was shocked to see the shining tracks of tears on her cheeks. She rubbed hurriedly at her eyes as he stepped out to join them.

"Reina, my dear," Regis said. "Are you quite alright?"

She nodded, but as soon as he was near enough she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him as tightly as she could. He smoothed one hand across her back and reached out to tousle Noctis' hair.

"How have you found your first day back?" It seemed a stupid question, given the circumstances, but Regis asked it anyway.

Noctis shrugged one shoulder, looking away. "Fine."

Fine. It was the most overused word in his household, to the point where it had come to mean nothing at all.

"Reina?" Regis prompted.

She leaned back and looked up at him. Her cheeks were wet again and her eyes were rimmed in red. Regis pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dried her tears.

"We don't have any friends here, Father," she said.

"I am afraid that is an inevitable side effect of your two year break. But surely your friends from before are still in the same grade?"

"They are…" Reina took his offered handkerchief and blew her nose. Her tone suggested the statement came with a caveat, but none came. He would ask again later, when she was feeling more composed.

"Well, in any case, I do apologize for my lateness," Regis said. "It is inexcusable. However, if you wished, we might do something to make up for it?"

"Do what?" Noctis asked.

"What would you like to do?" Regis asked.

Noctis glanced at Reina. No words were exchanged, and yet Regis had the distinct impression that thoughts were shared nevertheless. They had always done that. Ever since they were eighteen months and standing up in their respective cribs, babbling at each other through the bars when they were meant to be sleeping. Ten years ago, Regis would have said tales of twins having some unknowable bond were simply ridiculous. He had since rethought that belief.

"Should I call Clarus?" Cor asked flatly.

Reina glanced from him to Regis. "We just want to go home."

Regis felt a pang of regret. Nevertheless: "Then home is where we will go."


	2. A Modest Proposal

The ride was not much more informative than their conversation at the school had been, in spite of the fact that traffic had not improved and so they had ample time to speak of whatever was on their minds. They were quiet, but not unduly so. Neither of his children were wont to be chatty, save on rare occasions.

They arrived at the Citadel with Regis feeling no wiser. A small but growing crowd was loitering in the entrance hall. The Crownsguards straightened and saluted as soon as Regis entered. Half a dozen voices called after him at once.

"Your Majesty, an urgent message from Tenebrae came through while you were away. They are held on the line, but—"

"Sire, you are wanted in court at the earliest convenience—"

"The council bade me deliver this note, Your Majesty—"

Regis lifted a hand and silenced the flow. He glanced over the assembled faces and focused on the one he was searching for.

"Avun." He motioned to his personal attendant.

Avunculus stepped forward, taking the proffered note from the servant and bowing to Regis. "I fear The Citadel has been rather a flurry of motion since shortly after you left. Whatever occurred has not been disclosed to the serving staff."

That did not bode well. Regis glanced down at his children, regret gripping him. There was always something to pull him away. However hard he tried, some catastrophe was always waiting just around the bend.

Reina saved him the trouble of inventing an excuse. "It's alright, Father. This is important. We'll go upstairs and work on our homework."

"Yes—" Regis glanced around the hall for someone to send them off with. Just such a person was making her way toward them, moving easily in a dress that would once have been unfamiliar territory for her.

Crea fixed him with her perpetual smile. "Go on then. I'm sure we'll survive without you."

That was half of what he was worried about. The other half was that they wouldn't.

"Thank you, Crea." Regis reached out to touch her arm but stopped himself. Instead he turned back toward his children. "I shall see you as soon as I am able."

Though that, in all likelihood, wouldn't be until tomorrow morning.

"Alright." Noctis shrugged.

A peculiar, distant smile crept across Reina's face. "Goodnight, Father. You'll tell Ravus hello for me, won't you? I miss him."

For a moment Regis could do nothing but stare at her as his mind attempted to work out the peculiarities of what she had just said. It was three in the afternoon, Ravus was hundreds of miles away and neither of them had spoken to him in over a year. Reina didn't elaborate. Likely she couldn't have done so, even if she wished to. Instead she took Noctis' hand in one of hers and Crea's in the other, and the three of them left together.

"Sire, the court is in session." Avun was at his elbow, holding the note he had collected.

"Yes…" Regis watched until they rounded the corner. An urgent message from Tenebrae and Reina wanted her greetings passed on to Ravus. He turned abruptly and made for the throne room in the opposite direction. "Yes. And the call from Tenebrae?"

"I understand Master Amicitia took the call, but was unable to resolve whatever conflict has arisen. There has been much ado over the inability to reach you, Sire." That last was added with a hint of reproach.

Regis felt a twinge of guilt at that. It was bordering on irresponsible to leave with his phone off and order his chaperone to refuse all calls as well.

Even so. "If Clarus and the council can be made to understand that my personal line is to be used only in the case of emergencies and, furthermore, what precisely constitutes an emergency, I will have no qualms with leaving the device powered on at all times."

"Very good, Sire." Avun attempted to bow while walking. "I will endeavor to impress that point in the future. Your missive, Your Majesty."

He held out the note. Regis took it, broke the wax, and shook it open. Nothing informative was written there; the only piece Avun had not already imparted to him was a vague hint that Niflheim was up to no good. When weren't they? Not within living memory, certainly.

They reached the throne room and the doors opened before them. At the cracking of the doors, Regis could hear the voices beyond, but as soon as he appeared in the doorway they silenced. He strode up the long audience chamber, sweeping his cape back over his shoulder, from where it had escaped during the walk.

Regis lifted his voice. "Clarus."

Clarus stood nearly atop the stairs, just below the throne. "Niflheim has taken Fenestala Manor."

Regis nearly stopped walking. He had to remind himself to take the next step and the one after as well.

"The Nox Fleurets?" Regis asked.

"Alive and evidently unharmed, but little more than hostages within their own home," Clarus said. "The Oracle made contact not thirty minutes ago. It seems they had some indication that the empire had something in the works, but were unaware it was of this magnitude."

The letter sitting on his desk, untouched.

"They wished to make contact with you," Clarus said. "I believe Niflheim means to use them as leverage.

The last time he had seen Sylva, they had parted on far from genial terms. If Iedolas thought he would sacrifice Lucian lives for a woman who believed his daughter was less important than a spare tire, he was in for an unpleasant revelation.

And yet, Sylva was not the only person in Fenestala.

_You'll tell Ravus hello for me, won't you? I miss him._

Was he to return to that same daughter and tell her he had given her friend over to the empire out of spite for Ravus' mother? That was unworthy of him.

"Will they contact us again?" Regis climbed the stairs to his throne and took his seat, staring down the nearly-empty audience chamber.

"We were given to understand they will," Clarus said.

Then they could only wait. But they needn't idle in the meantime.

"What else do we know?"

Clarus glanced down the stairs. Near the bottom was standing Captain Ulric of the Kingsglaive.

"Our nearest operatives in Niflheim are an hour away by car," said Ulric, "but we got word to them. We should be hearing back within the hour, Your Majesty."

"Beyond that we have learned very little," said Clarus. "It does indeed seem that Niflheim has deployed some troops from Gralea—a small force: only two Magitek Engines were seen departing from the capital."

Thirty Magitek soldiers, give or take. Either they were counting on Sylva's notorious pacifism or their designs were not on Fenestala at all.

"What motivation have they?" Regis asked, only half expecting an answer.

It was Master Felice who spoke up first. "The Oracle commands the respect of the masses. Not only in Tenebrae, but all across Eos. Even here in Lucis people look to the light of the Oracle. Having her under their control could be a valuable asset."

And whenever Felice spoke, Aldebrand was obligated to disagree. If the Citadel ever collapsed, they would find that law written in stone underneath.

"That is precisely the reason they avoided Fenestala in the first place," he said. "Attacking Fenestala Manor risks provoking a sizable portion of their conquered peoples. They can't afford to give people a rallying cry."

"Perhaps it is not the Oracle they have an interest in at all." Master Hamon sat forward in his chair. "The Nox Fleurets have a long history of friendship—and more—with Lucis."

And here they were back to the question of leverage.

"You think they would demand our surrender in return for the lives of Tenebrae's royal family?" Felice asked.

Hamon shrugged and leaned back again. "I can only surmise. But I believe they would be foolish to offer such an ultimatum, given—as you have aptly noted—the common popularity of the Oracle. It would force them to either kill the Nox Fleurets or admit that we had called their bluff."

Felice glanced toward Regis. "Surely you aren't suggesting—"

"No," Hamon said. "I am merely observing."

And, as was so often the case, he observed correctly. On his own, Hamon would have been a dangerously intelligent man. That was why he was in Regis' council and not outside.

"We can but wait," Clarus said.

So they waited. Some speculation was made. Some tentative plans were put forth—thirty Magitek Soldiers was a force small enough to defeat, if Lucis so wished, but the possibility remained that this was precisely what Niflheim intended.

Before they heard from Fenestala Manor, they heard from Captain Ulrics' operatives.

"Most of Tenebrae seems calm, Your Majesty," Ulric relayed, hand to his ear. "But there are MTs on the road up to the manor and no one outside seems to know what's going on, except that some Magitek Engines flew over an hour ago."

Regis tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne. This was sounding more like a hostage situation minute by minute. They were simply waiting for the call issuing demands—not because they intended to negotiate with the empire, but because it was always beneficial to know what their enemy wanted before making any pivotal decisions.

"Do you want her to take a closer look, Your Majesty?" Ulric asked.

Dangerous. And yet, a Kingsglaive inside Fenestala could provide them with valuable information. Had it been a Crownsguard, he never would have considered. But the Kingsglaive had been founded to take on tasks no one else could.

"Send you agent inside. Tell her to keep out of sight at all costs. It is vital that Niflheim knows nothing," Regis said.

Ulric tapped his ear piece and relayed. At his orders, the tension in the room rose by a mark. The uncertainty of the situation and the empire in their ally's capitol was concerning enough, but now there was a Lucian life on the line. Regis had no intention of sacrificing that Glaive for the sake of information.

It was another twenty minutes before the call came through from Fenestala Manor and they withdrew to the conference room off the audience hall to take it. The image that came through certainly appeared to be from within Fenestala, and yet it was not Sylva on the screen. It was a burgundy-haired man, dressed outlandishly even for an imperial. And yet he was.

"Chancellor Izunia," Regis said. "I understand you wished to speak with me."

Though his councilors lined the room, the only people visible to the camera were himself, Clarus, and Captain Ulric.

"Your Royal Majesty! What an honor!" His tone made a polite statement into a mockery. "I happen to have with me here someone who would very much like to see you."

"Is that so?" Regis regarded him levelly. So the games began.

The chancellor motioned to someone off camera and the feed switched to show the royal family of Tenebrae.

Had they been of lesser blood Regis might have described them as huddled together. As it were, they simply stood quite close together. Sylva sat in a tall-backed wooden chair with Lunafreya close enough beside her that Sylva had her hand on Luna's back. Lunafreya had grown in the two years since they had left Tenebrae, but the significant change was in Ravus.

He stood just behind and to the right of his mother's chair with his hand on the back. If he had been an adolescent before, he was practically a young man now. His hair hung longer around his face, paler than Regis remembered it being. While his mother and sister were both possessed of the same white-blonde hair he had once had, Ravus' hair was leaning more toward white. He regarded the camera with the same intelligent gaze he had held two years ago, but the easy smile was far from his face. Instead his jaw was set and tension rang in the rigidity of his stance.

Though the screen showed the Fleurets, the chancellor's voice came across through the speakers. "I'm sure Queen Sylva can explain our little arrangement to you."

Sylva looked as if she would like to do most anything else. Nevertheless, she fixed the camera with a level gaze. "House Fleuret has come under the protective custody of Niflheim, Your Majesty. In these trying times, we have made an agreement for the sake of our own safety."

"And what does Niflheim gain from this act of altruism?" Regis asked.

"Your tone belies your sincerity, Your Majesty," said the chancellor. "Is it is so difficult to believe that the empire would wish to protect its neighbors?"

Regis had to fight to prevent himself from responding to that question. If they were playing a game of insincerity, Regis was faced against a master.

"An act of altruism, by definition, has no benefit to one side." The chancellor's voice dripped with oil.

"I see," said Regis. "Then to what do I owe the courtesy of your call?"

The chancellor stepped into view, upstaging the Fleurets, who remained so still they might well have been a backdrop. "The benevolent and generous empire thought only to offer you a piece of this… peace."

"How generous," Regis said.

Chancellor Izunia smiled faintly. "Of course, given Lucis' history of hostilities toward the empire, we would require some sort of assurance… a marriage, for instance, to wed our two nations."

If he thought Regis would marry Sylva to achieve some sort of false peace, which the empire would break at the earliest convenience, he was sorely mistaken.

The disturbing little smile never left the chancellor's face. "Perhaps, Princess Reina and Prince Ravus?"

That was worse.

That was so much worse.

Regis had to fight for control of his own face—and voice—lest he shout his retort. "My daughter is eleven years old."

"But of course." The chancellor spread his hands and his smile grew. "We are seeking to build a lasting peace for the generations. The betrothal need not become a marriage for quite some time."

No. Absolutely not. Regis would rather marry Sylva than sentence his daughter to this—some political marriage in which she was the bridge that held two warring nations together.

He bit his tongue rather than speak those words. "I see. And what does Prince Ravus think of this arrangement?"

The chancellor stepped aside, motioning toward Ravus and bowing ironically off screen. Though Chancellor Izunia was no longer visible, Regis had little doubt that was where Ravus' eyes flicked before he focused on the camera.

"Her Royal Highness is a unique and intelligent young woman," Ravus said. "I would be honored to be called her betrothed and bring peace to our war-torn world."

Part of that was a script, Regis had no doubt. Perhaps all of it. His words had a certain rehearsed quality, but there was also an earnestness behind a portion of what he said. Was it possible he had fallen for this dream of peace? Doubtful. Otherwise he would be less tense and his voice would have faltered less. What, then, did he believe in?

Reina's words came back to him. She had known, at least in some capacity, that this would happen and she had—wittingly or unwittingly—given her own approval.

"Princess Reina has asked to be remembered to you," Regis said. "She says the time she shared with you in Tenebrae was too short."

Cut short, in fact.

"Her Highness is too kind." Ravus gave a short bow, with only his head and shoulders moving. But there was a flash of something on his face. So here was the sincerity. He was afraid of the empire and all but assured that they would kill his family if he did not cooperate with their demands, but he did believe what he said about Reina. Even if she was only a child to him, he had found her to be enjoyable company.

"How old are you, Prince Ravus?" Regis asked.

"Eighteen since spring, Your Majesty."

Seven years. In two full grown adults the difference was all but insignificant. But she was still a child and he was nearly a man. Already a man, depending on one's definition.

Why was he even considering this? Of course he wasn't marrying Reina off. Perhaps she did like Ravus and perhaps she would even give her approval, if asked openly, but she was eleven years old. How could he possibly allow her to make that decision, regardless?

The chancellor stepped back into view. "I wouldn't dare suggest we wed two relative strangers. Perhaps you would consent to hosting Prince Ravus in your halls for a time, so that the betrothed might become better acquainted?"

And there it was. The carrot and the stick. Regis would be given the opportunity to protect one Fleuret from this. In return he let into his kingdom a young man in a dangerous position. What boy of eighteen would not do whatever was asked of him to save his mother and sister?

"Such an accommodating proposition, Chancellor," Regis said. "I would be remiss not to give it due consideration from all angles."

"But of course," said the chancellor, and Regis was all but certain someone would have to scrub grease off the speakers when they were through. "We wouldn't dream of forcing you into a contract without giving you time to consider."

Oh they wouldn't, would they?

"His Imperial Majesty has proposed a consideration period of two weeks," the chancellor said.

Two weeks to decide if he would take a spy into his kingdom and promise his daughter's hand to a boy seven years her senior.

"I fear that is simply impossible," Regis said. "As the fate of Lucis rests upon this decision, we will need at least two months."

"His Imperial Majesty will grant you one." The faint smile had returned to the chancellor's face. It gave the perpetual impression that he knew something Regis did not. Doubtless he knew many things Regis did not.

"Very well," Regis said. "Lucis will have your answer in one month."

"Excellent! Until then you can be assured that the empire will take good care of House Fleuret."

Of that, Regis had no doubt. It only remained to be seen how well House Fleuret would weather such care.


	3. Crea

As anticipated, by the time Regis arrived upstairs again it was well past the twins' bedtime. A such, when he eased the door to their room open and peered inside, they were both fast asleep in a room lit only by the starry glow of the nightlight. He slipped inside and ensured that they were well tucked-in, pulling blankets up to their chins and smoothing his hand over their heads. He gave each of them a kiss, more for his sake than theirs, but lingered at Reina's bedside.

Reina. His little girl. He was supposed to protect her, to ensure that she had a happy and healthy childhood so she could grow into the woman she would need to be someday. Never had he accounted for a political marriage in his imaginings of her future. And yet he had spent all evening and well into the night discussing what would happen if he married her off to Ravus Nox Fleuret. If it had seemed preposterous then, it was fully unimaginable now, as he stood in her room and watched the steady rise and fall of her blankets as she dreamed deep dreams of a wonderful world.

It was easy to say she was eleven and seven years younger than Ravus. But standing there, the truth of those words seemed woefully insufficient. She was just a little girl. People didn't talk about who their babies would marry. Marriage was a topic for adulthood. Even if she had been eighteen he wouldn't have known what to do.

Regis lowered onto the edge of her bed and smoothed ebony hair from her pale face. They had joked, when she was just a babe in arms, that she would grow up to be just like her mother. Beautiful and assertive. And having Regis wrapped around her finger. At least two of those things had come true. His memories of Aulea at this age had faded and blurred in time, but she must have looked much like Reina did now. Certainly she had the same sapphire eyes. The same hair.

"I cannot do this on my own, Aulea," he whispered into the empty night. Eleven years and that hole in his chest was no less empty. He still woke some mornings expecting to find her in bed with him, though he had slept more years without her than with her.

She would have known what to do about this whole business. She would have told him… he couldn't fathom what, but it would have made sense in ways he couldn't even begin to imagine.

The faint beam of light cast from the hall outside widened. Regis turned to find Crea in the doorway, silhouetted against the hall lights. She had changed out of her dress. As natural as she made it look while she was gliding through the Citadel halls in formalwear fit for the woman who had raised the prince and princess, she would always look more herself in jeans and a sweater.

Had she heard him talking to ghosts? Quite possibly. It wasn't as if she had no notion of what he had gone through and was still going through. In fact, the whole phrase 'going through' was a poor one to describe losing his wife. It suggested that there was an end and that someday he would come out the other side.

Regis gave one last regretful glance to Reina, smoothed her blankets flat, and rose to follow Crea out of the room. It was best not to speak while they were sleeping.

"How were they?" Regis asked, once he had closed the door behind him.

"Golden," Crea said. "They finished their homework and we went for a walk with Ignis."

Life had been washed away by the insanity of politics but all at once it came back to him. "Did they speak of their day at school?"

"Some."

"I wonder if we did not act too hastily," Regis said. "Perhaps they should not have gone back."

"Why do you say that?"

He relayed to her what he had witnessed upon arriving at their school that afternoon. It seemed much longer ago than the afternoon by now. When he had finished she stood with one arm crossed over her stomach, tapping her finger thoughtfully against pursed lips.

"I suppose that's to be expected," she said. "I told you there would be an adjustment period while they got used to traditional instruction again, but I think we did forget to account for Reina's… gifts."

Gifts indeed. Though sometimes a curse as much as a blessing.

"She has had experiences no one else her age has—or likely ever will," Crea said. "Even those of us who understand what she does don't _really_ understand. It's hard to relate to people who have no idea what your life even is, and this thing—these Dreams—have become a core part of who she is."

"That is what worries me," Regis said. " _Part_ of what worries me."

How could she have a normal childhood—a normal life—when this magic had become so heavily ingrained in her? He had feared her becoming a tool for use by the kingdom. He should have been afraid she would become a tool for use by herself.

Crea shrugged one shoulder, but smiled sympathetically. "This isn't something you can fix, Regis."

"I could forbid her from Dreaming."

"You could." Crea shrugged again. "But I don't think it would help. Half of her premonitions aren't even visions. They're just feelings."

"But that has gotten worse since she has started Dreaming more consistently."

Perhaps consistent was the wrong word. With less supervision, certainly. She still couldn't see a predetermined event, at least not consistently, and she certainly did not have those visions every night—though he had given her permission to try at will and he second-guessed that choice daily. Even so, she seemed to have more understanding of _how_ she Dreamed than she had two years ago.

"You're saying worse like it's an illness," Crea said. "It's just part of who she is and you need to accept that. For both of your sakes."

Regis shook his head. "It is a blessing and a curse, but if I could take it from her I would."

"Even though it saves lives?"

Regis pursed his lips. "Yes."

She sighed and gave him that look. Like his stubbornness was pushing the boundary of her endless patience.

"What happened with Tenebrae?" She asked.

"If you are hoping to lighten my spirits with that, your expectations are misplaced." Regis regarded her stonily.

The gaze that would have sent his councilors running for cover merely pushed her patient expression closer to the exasperated end of the scale. "Does it have to do with Reina and Noctis?"

She was asking, but in the way that meant she already knew. Somehow. Though he would have sworn none of their discussion escaped the conference room.

"You're always in a foul mood when someone brings your children into politics," she said.

"They want to marry Reina to Prince Ravus Nox Fleuret."

Crea raised her eyebrows. "I admit I'm not well versed in political marriages, but isn't eleven a bit young?"

"More than a bit," Regis said. "Though they conceded that the marriage might occur in some ten years."

"Twenty-one sounds reasonable," Crea said.

"He is eighteen."

"Oh, I see," she said. "And the fate of Lucis depends on this decision?"

"In a way. In truth we have less to lose from refusal than Tenebrae does. They are counting on my goodwill toward the Fleurets."

"Well, that seems like a poor gamble. Surely they must be aware that goodwill has tarnished somewhat."

"Perhaps. But she has two children and neither of them deserve to be subjugated," Regis said. "I could at least protect Ravus if he were sent here."

"Doesn't she have a girl Noct's age?"

"Nearly," Regis said. "Lunafreya must be fourteen or fifteen."

"Noctis talks about her," Crea said. "Why would they propose to match Reina with a boy seven years older than her and not Noctis with Lunafreya?"

"Because they believe the prophecy, and the prophecy declares that the Oracle will aid the King of Light. They will do everything they can to prevent that."

Including killing a fifteen year old? Quite possibly.

"Well, I wouldn't even begin to try to advise you," Crea said, "But you should know that most little girls find the prospect of marriage delightful and exciting. Your perspective is not the same as Reina's will be. And you have ten years to make a decision."

"They have requested an answer within one month."

"So what? Tell them yes and protect Prince Ravus while you set a better plan in motion." She shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe by then Reina will decide she wants to marry him anyway."

Regis stared. "Crea."

"Hm?"

"You should be on my council."

She pulled a face. "I'm sorry. Have I given you some reason to punish me recently?"

"We can tell them yes without speaking a word to Reina—she needs never know if it never happens."

"And if she decides she wants to marry him later?"

Regis blanched. "She is eleven years old!"

Crea ducked her head, but he caught the grin anyway. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"She isn't going to be eleven forever, Regis," she said.

He sighed. "And too well I know it."

"It'll work out. They'll both grow up fine." She patted his elbow. "I'll talk to them both about school tomorrow and keep an eye out. If they really aren't adapting and it looks as if they won't, we can pull them out and resume their private studies. No harm done. Don't worry about what choices made today will cause in the future. That's what you pay me for."

"I know." He shut his eyes and let out a breath. "You are correct, as is usual, Crea."

"That's my job," she said. "Now go to bed."

And so was that, but usually she applied it to the prince and princess rather than the king. He went anyway. Sometimes it was nice to have someone order him to bed rather than allowing him to pace the halls indefinitely, torturing himself with possibilities.


	4. Friends

The council had no objections to Crea's proposed course of action, though Regis didn't present it as such. They were not above prejudice. He was well aware what effect the source of an idea could have on its reception in the council. With little counter argument, it was decided that they would, at the end of one month, accept Niflheim's proposition. At least on a conditional basis, provided that the ever so slippery imperial chancellor did not attempt to slide some other requirement into this agreement.

The remainder of the school day passed in the usual blur of activity. It was still odd to have those hours to himself—or as near as was possible for a king—after the years Reina and Noctis had spent being tutored in the Citadel. It may have been more productive to work without a child on his lap or tugging at his cape, but it was certainly more dull as well. All he had for company was Clarus who—while generally good company—was not quite as cute as Reina and Noctis.

Crea had volunteered to pick the twins up from school. Or, more accurately, she had told him to remain in the Citadel so that she could interact with them directly out of school without the king hovering over her shoulder. He could understand that. He didn't like it, but he could still understand it. That his children should have been able to say to him anything they said to Crea went without saying. That did not mean it was true however.

He read through the request for funding to build more streetlights in the Outlands. Attached to the proposal were a series of incident reports, each of them recording daemons attacking vehicles on the roads at night. He didn't need to read the dates to know they were growing more frequent. Ten years ago it had been unheard of for daemons to be sighted, let alone attack people. And there were lights on the roads. Not enough to dissuade them, it seemed.

He flipped through the plans, then a long note from Aldebrand detailing the cost to the royal treasury and the current state of available funds. Needless to say, there were none. Or at least not enough to do as the Outlands wished. He skimmed through Aldebrand's copious notes of expenditures. The lives of Outlanders were no less important than those of the Crown City residents. Something would have to be cut to ensure their safety. He made a few notes—half for himself and the remainder instructions to be passed on.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Enter." Regis flipped back through the pages before him. If he overlooked something now it would only cause him more inconvenience in the future.

"Your Majesty, Miss Vinculum has returned. She has requested that you be notified."

"Thank you, Avun." Regis signed off a note to Aldebrand, instructing he seeks consultation from the city planners regarding the cost of the project.

Avunculus withdrew, pulling the door behind him, but Regis halted him before he could close it.

"Avun." He rose, stacking the instructions neatly in one pile. "Have these sealed and delivered."

Avun opened the door the rest of the way, bowing. "Of course, Your Majesty."

He stood aside as Regis stepped out. Regis had not specifically asked Crea to inform him when they returned. That she had could be simply due to her anticipating his unspoken whims—as she was wont to do—or to something altogether more concerning. He chose to expect the latter and hope for the former. Either way, his children were on his schedule this afternoon. He might as well go a few minutes early.

Upstairs he found Reina and Noctis already settled into the royal lounge, stretched across the couch on their stomachs and laying head-to-head as they worked on whatever homework they had brought home. Both looked up when Regis entered.

"Hello Father." Reina smiled, kicking her feet.

"Hey Dad." Noctis chewed on the back of his pencil and looked back down at his work.

"Good afternoon, dearest ones." He stopped by to give each of them a kiss on the head—welcome or unwelcome—before looking around for Crea. He found her leaning against the wall, watching them.

"Was there something you wished to tell me, Crea?" He asked.

"Nothing urgent," she said. "But we can talk now if you have a moment."

He glanced at the clock. By his schedule, he was still early for Reina and Noctis' lessons. While he wouldn't have had qualms pushing them one way or the other, it was often best not to deviate from what Avun had written down. He packed everything so neatly that any change Regis made had an avalanching effect that could be felt weeks down the line.

"I can spare you several." Regis pulled the library door open and motioned her inside.

The royal library, while rarely used for reading, had the unique asset of being a relatively secluded space in which private conversations could be held, which, nevertheless, afforded a view of the lounge and therefore the children, due to the glass walls and door.

"Did you speak with them regarding school?" Regis asked, once they were both closed inside.

"I did." Crea pulled a chair out from behind the chess table and sat down. "And I gather they are having a difficult time relating to children their age."

"They had friends before," Regis said.

"They did. But a few things have changed. Firstly they're now of an age where their peers have begun to draw lines between royalty and everyone else. Even those friends they had before aren't friends anymore. Two years is a long time when you're only eleven years old. But on top of the normal changes that happen between nine and eleven, Reina and Noctis have had experiences that other children don't even have nightmares about. That has changed their view of the world drastically."

And it was difficult to relate to someone who thought the world was something you knew to be false.

Regis sat down across from her. "Then we should never have sent them back."

She held up a finger to indicate she wasn't done. "Thinking about what you saw yesterday when you picked them up makes me think there's another complication for her. An added degree of separation, so to speak. With Reina's Dreams growing in potency and frequency, she no longer views time like most people do and that is a considerable difference that even adults would struggle to understand. Those of us who have experienced this with her understand as well as is possible, which is to say, not very much. But at least we're willing to take her at face value, whereas children are more likely to ask why. _Why_ do you know that? _Why_ do you feel that way? And she doesn't have an answer to those questions, so all she can do is withdraw."

"If you are attempting to convince me we have not made a mistake, you are doing very poorly," Regis said.

Crea smiled. "I'm not. But now that we come to it, I'm not certain we have made a mistake. If Reina and Noctis remain here they may miss valuable social lessons that most children gain from wider interactions. On the other hand, as things stand, they aren't likely to learn those skills at school anyway."

"So what do you propose to do?"

She stared over his shoulder, looking through the wall to the lounge where Reina and Noctis still sat together. "I think they should remain in school. They haven't had time to even begin adapting and we should at least give them that chance."

"What about the friends they have here?" Regis asked.

"Who, Ignis, Iris, and Gladiolus?"

It seemed a shorter list when she said it that way.

"Well of course I think they should continue to see each other and be friends," Crea said. "But I don't think that will help them make connections at school."

"What would?"

"I'm not certain, yet." She tapped her finger against her lips. "If they could get one finger-hold I think matters would improve vastly."

"So it is entirely out of our control," Regis said. Not exactly how he liked leaving the fate of his children.

She smiled. "Some things simply are."

"I know it too well."


	5. Adversaries

Every Caelum had two sources of magic: elemancy, which was a boon from Ifrit, Shiva, and Ramuh, and arcana, which came to them through the crystal. The former granted them control of the elements, whereas the later gave them control over reality. Each generation those ties grew stronger so that every king leading up to the Chosen King was stronger than the last.

But one Caelum had been deprived of those assets at birth. While it seemed well enough in line that those who granted gifts could also spirit them away, her only crime had been a cruel trick of genetics. Twins. Twins when the gods had expected only the Chosen child.

And only one Caelum had transcended all gifts and deities and produced a magic all of her own, unheard of before this generation and deemed impossible by all who heard of it.

There was an irony about it all. A certain poetic justice. Whether the Astrals had inadvertently caused Reina's premonitions when they severed her ties to the crystal or not was a question Regis expected to never know the answer to. But the fact was that, by destiny or happenstance, the child they had meant to be no one was the only person on Eos who could help dismantle that prophecy they called fate.

He meant for her to have every opportunity—every tool—available.

"What powers the crystal, Father? Is it like a battery?"

They stood in the crystal chamber, bright with violet light when the hexagon of mirrors opened it to the room. Reina shielded her eyes against its brilliance, but crept closer nevertheless.

"Not as such. The crystal may generate the Wall, but alone it is inert—much as the ring does no good to one outside the royal family." In fact, as legend told, it did considerable harm to those outside the royal family, but Regis had never witnessed such an event. In his lifetime only himself and his father had worn the ring.

"Dad's the battery," Noctis said. He meant it as a jest, but was inadvertently exactly correct.

"Oh." Reina looked from Noctis to Regis, turning her back on the crystal. "That makes sense."

"Huh?"

"Well batteries get worn out, right?" She turned back toward the crystal, squinting through the light and craning to get a look at the geode within. "When you use them for a long time they run out of power and you have to replace them."

Regis clenched his jaw. An uncomfortably apt description.

Noctis gave Regis a dubious look. "I don't think anyone's going to throw Dad in the trash can."

"Well no," she said. "Because he's still a new battery. But Grandfather ran out of power and they replaced him with Father."

Regis' stomach lurched. They rarely spoke of his father, and even then, Regis had never told them of the effect of the Wall. Two years and he still wasn't accustomed to her knowing things she had no way of knowing. Not even twenty would have been enough.

Noctis rounded on him. "Is that true, Dad?"

"Your sister is most often correct."

Noctis turned back to Reina. "How did you know that?"

"Um." She turned and screwed up her face, thinking. "I don't know. Someone must have told me. Or will tell me."

Which was, from Reina's perspective, often much the same thing.

No, that was never going to make sense to him.

"Then Dad's going to run out of power and get replaced by _me_?" Noctis asked.

Regis opened his mouth to head off the conversation. Reina beat him to it.

"No," she said simply.

Noctis accepted this without further comment. Regis, however, was left reevaluating his own worldview at an offhand comment made by his eleven-year-old daughter. It was an all too common theme in his life, these days.

"And why is that, my dear?" He asked, when details were not forthcoming.

"I don't know. You just won't."

And an all too common answer as well. Nevertheless it stirred in him a hopeful curiosity. He had fully expected to succumb to the same fate as his father had, but when Reina said something would happen—or would not happen, as the case may be—he tended to believe her.

In a blinding burst, the light of the crystal brightened, then pulsed. Regis needed neither to sense the fourth presence now in the room with them.

Regis stepped forward, shielding his eyes. "Behind me, children."

Reina, temporarily distracted by the pulsing of the crystal, tore her gaze away and ducked behind him with Noctis. Regis fought the urge to summon his blade. As if that would do him any good against this foe.

_:Regis Lucis Caelum:_ The voice spoke, disembodied, in his mind rather than his ears. He had no notion whether or not Reina and Noctis would hear the same.

"Draconian." Regis stood before his children, prepared to make a barrier of himself if the need arose. "To what do we owe the obligation of your visit?"

_:Darkness doth encroach upon Lucis. The resurgence of the Starscourge must not go ignored.:_

"I never intended that it should."

They danced a delicate line. Thus far, Regis had not broken any covenant to the gods. When he refused to allow his son to be sacrificed on the throne, he would, but for now he merely defied words, not ancient vows.

_:The light of the crystal shalt not cleanse they lands.:_

"And it never would have," Regis said, well aware of the limitations of the crystal—and himself.

_:The Oracle shalt not cleanse they lands.:_

This gave him pause. Sylva had cured the Starscourge in the afflicted of Lucis, several years ago. She had even blessed locations across the outlands to keep the daemons at bay once darkness fell. He had not given much thought to that, amidst his silent feud with her. Even so, he couldn't imagine she would simply have refused even if he was of a mind to ask her.

Save that, as of quite recently, she was in imperial custody. Was Bahamut aware of that? He usually ignored such petty mortal affairs.

"And why is that?" Regis asked.

_:She hast become enslaved.:_

A rare answer to a question. In fact, it answered more than one question.

And brought up a dozen more.

And here he had expected an ultimatum: obey me or else. Was it some misguided attempt at common courtesy that brought Bahamut before him? Or something else? It nearly sounded like bravado, but that was absurd. Unless…

A disturbing thought drifted across his mind.

"And if I agree to your demands, you will manipulate the empire into releasing her, much as you manipulated them into taking charge of her in the first place?" It was a shot in the dark. He was almost hoping Bahamut denied it.

_:Rescind the child's magic. Desist in your dabbling.:_

And there it was. The threat delivered before the demand. Regis stood, stunned and staring—unseeing—into the heart of the crystal until the light was burned in his vision.

"You bastard," he said quietly. "The empire stands against us, hammers on our walls, drains our resources, kills our people, and seeks to take the very thing you entrusted to us. And yet you would offer them aid?"

_:Mortal affairs are of no importance.:_

"They will be if Niflheim kills the one you want before you have the chance to drain him dry yourself!"

Silence followed. Regis was keenly aware, as the echoes of his shouts faded, that Reina and Noctis were both clutching the back of his coat.

_:Rescind the child's magic. Desist in your dabbling,:_ the Draconian repeated.

And he was gone from the room, his presence no longer a crushing weight on Regis' chest. Regis let out a slow breath and reached out to touch the children huddled behind him.

"It's alright." He managed to turn and kneel before them. Both wide-eyed worried and confused, but not terrified. "It is over."

"What was that, Dad?" Noctis asked.

"Did you hear his voice?" Regis asked.

Both shook their heads. Small blessings. Instead they had heard their father shouting at an inanimate object.

"I felt something," Reina said. "Like… heavy."

Noctis nodded.

Regis smiled grimly. Reina's repaired magic was already being put to use—as were their regular lessons with him. That was some vindication.

"You felt the presence of Bahamut, the Draconian."

Both gaped at him.

"And that, I believe, is more than enough lesson for this afternoon." He rose and ushered them toward the door, though they both glanced back at the crystal and him, hoping for more information. "Go on now. Back upstairs."

He was blessed with obedient children. Whatever questions brewed in their minds, they had already set apart the two halves of their father's life. Some things were simply not theirs to know. And this thing, though it concerned them intimately, he hoped to keep as far away from them as possible.


	6. Voices

Reina and Noctis remained in school, as per Crea's instructions, and the school week passed without change or further incident. So far as he could glean, no improvements had been made. Crea assured him this was normal and life pressed on.

Over the weekend, when all the Citadel-affiliated children were free from their lessons, there was something of a congregation. Ignis, of course, was in and out of the royal levels as often as Regis was, and they saw Gladio daily for combat lessons, but this was something different. Regis lingered long enough to bear witness. After a week of his children being isolated in their own school, he hoped they could find some satisfaction in their friends here.

Nearly ten years along and Ignis was still doing a fine job of mothering Noctis at least—he had, Regis suspected, learned a great deal from Crea.

"Before we dive into whatever plans you have laid out, Noctis, I must ask: is your homework finished?" The effect was rather spoiled when Ignis' voice cracked part way through and the question came out at a much higher pitch.

Noctis laughed. "You sound so stoOPID," he said, imitating the pitch change on his own. The result was something of a squeak, given that the starting pitch had not much higher to rise, and a very red-faced Ignis.

"Shut up, Noct." Reina shoved him. "Don't be mean. Miss Crea said you're going to do the same thing."

"I'm going to taALK LIKE THIS?"

Ignis said nothing. In fact, he appeared outwardly calm, but Regis didn't miss the tension in his shoulders as he avoided looking at Noctis.

"Ignis." Regis laid a hand on his shoulder. He was only a head and shoulders below Regis these days. He had been not much taller than Noctis two years before. "Bide your time. I guarantee you will have ample opportunity to serve revenge in a few years. And I heartily endorse lessons in humility."

He smiled at Ignis and received a shy one in return. It was a hard time to live through while one's friends were feeling both comedic and antagonistic, but boys would be boys. He had poked fun of Clarus when his voice cracked first and, later, received payback in full. He had doubtless deserved it.

Regis turned back to Noctis. "Do not allow yourself to become complacent, my son. I expect you will have it much worse."

"Wha—why?" Noctis crossed his arms over his chest. "You're just saying that."

"Certainly not," Regis said. "I speak from experience. Boys most often take after their fathers in that respect."

Noctis stared at him. "You did that too?"

"Of course." Regis raised an eyebrow and regarded him levelly. "Did you think I was born with this voice? That would have sounded odd from a baby."

Noct studied him, as if he wasn't certain Regis ever had been a baby.

"Miss Crea said everyone does it," Reina said.

"Except _girls_." Noctis nudged her. She stuck out her tongue.

"Yes, well," Regis said. "They have their own trials."

Though, come to think of it, he was only vaguely aware of what those were. Surely if Crea had spoken to them about this, she had also filled things in for Reina. Not that it was information she would need for some time, of course. She was only eleven. Did either of them really need to know—

Regis glanced up at Crea, suddenly wondering what she had told them. And what he was comfortable with her telling them. They hadn't discussed it together at all. She knew best, of course, and was the resident expert on these matters, but…

They were only eleven.

Crea raised her eyebrows at him, as if to ask if he had some objection to her child rearing methods. He wasn't sure that he didn't. Before he could ask to speak with her about it, the elevator door opened and Gladiolus stepped out.

If Ignis had gained in height these last two years, Gladiolus had gained double that. Much taller and he would surpass Regis. He probably would, in due time. Clarus had, and Regis had never lived it down.

"Hey, Reina," Gladio said levelly as he stepped out. No cracked voices there. He would probably learn to shave early, like his father had.

Then again, Clarus had also lost his hair early, which Regis still reminded him of occasionally.

Reina looked up, then glanced behind him at the empty elevator.

"Iris couldn't make it," Gladio said. "She came down with a cold and had to stay home."

"Oh…" Reina dropped her gaze.

Regis winced. Here he had been hoping she would have an enjoyable afternoon with Iris after a busy week of feeling ostracized. Now she had nothing. Or, more accurately, she had Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio, but more recently Regis had begun to notice distinctions in how the different groups interacted with each other.

Reina and Noctis were siblings as expected: doing most things together from homework to games to bickering with casual disregard for the other. When Iris was present, she and Reina slipped off together to do Gods knew what, but Iris most often reappeared with colored nails later. When Noctis' friends were present they most often played video games—among other games of subtle verbal abuse, which, for reasons Regis understood and yet could not explain, they interpreted as affection. Somehow he couldn't see Reina participating in that or other growing displays of machismo. Either she would be pushed aside or—more likely, given who Noctis' friends were—included and thus change the dynamic, perhaps to no one's satisfaction.

Regardless, there seemed few other solutions. Unless.

"Reina." Regis laid a hand atop her head and she looked up at him. "I do have a council meeting to attend, but if you wished, you might accompany me. Or you might stay with Noctis. I am certain Ignis and Gladiolus would welcome your company."

He looked over his shoulder to glance at the boys, who both bowed hurriedly.

"Yeah," Gladio said. "'Course we would."

"Of course, Your Majesty. Reina, you will always be most welcome among us," Ignis said.

They were good boys. Even if they sometimes left bruises on each other and Noctis.

Reina looked from Regis to Ignis when he spoke, her eyes lingering a moment before she tore them away. "I'll go with you, Father."

Regis couldn't help the twinge of self satisfaction at her words. Once he would have had no uncertainty of whom she would choose. But these days she chose to be apart from Regis nearly as often as she chose to be with him.

"Thank you, though." She looked back at Ignis. "Next time maybe."

"Of course, Your Highness."

They bid their goodbyes, Reina took Regis' hand, and they stepped into the elevator together, though it seemed to him she looked back at the boys more frequently than usual.


	7. Spoiled Secrets

The council was already assembled when they arrived; Regis had left rather later than he had intended, after being drawn up in a discussion of puberty and other such things, but they were not irreparably late. Indeed, no one was likely to begin until he was seated in any case.

Reina's presence caused no stir in the council, save that when his councilors bowed to Regis, they also murmured a greeting for Reina as well. Once he was seated she climbed into his lap and sat, unusually still for an eleven-year-old, and observed. When first she had begun attending, she had paid little attention to the proceedings. Indeed, she had slept through most of them. These days he could see her eyes following the conversation back and forth across the table.

Today the topic of debate was Niflheim, as was common during these meetings.

"How can we be certain this isn't all merely a ploy to draw out Lucis' forces?" Aldebrand asked.

"We can be sure of nothing, but that we can be sure of nothing," Hamon said.

"It should not matter what they intended," Felice said. "If we send troops to Tenebrae, Lucis will be left weaker for their absence."

"That does not mean they will attack us, however," Clarus said.

"I find myself agreeing that they will not attack." Hamon's eyes drifted toward Regis. In an uncomfortable revelation, Regis realized Hamon was looking at Reina rather than him. "If they had such plans, would we not have expected to hear of them?"

Silence fell heavily over the council chamber. The councilors looked at Regis, at Reina, or at Hamon—or all three in succession. Clarus caught Regis' eye. Reina's magic was an all but forbidden topic of discussion in the council. Regis had agreed not to blacklist it, provided that the councilors agreed not to speak of it.

"If His Majesty had any such information," Clarus said tightly, "He would certainly share it."

"Precisely," Hamon said. "As I have said, I am convinced upon this point. Though it might bring the council to agreement if we had more concrete evidence." He sighed. "If only Her Highness had the capability to view a specific event in the future and set our minds at ease."

Too late, Regis realized what he was doing.

Clarus sat forward. "Master Hamon—"

"But I can!" Reina's bright voice split the room. All eyes turned toward her, save Regis. He squeezed them shut against the thundering of reality. "At least sometimes I can."

"Reina…" He said softly.

She turned to look up at him. "I can help, Father. I can try to look and see if Niflheim will attack."

And too well he knew it.

"No," he said with finality. He looked down the table. "Her Highness' premonitions are not a tool to be used by this kingdom. I will not allow you to dictate what she does or does not see. You will not use her. You will not prejudice her. And this subject will not be discussed again."

He met the gaze of every councilor in attendance and held until they looked away. All did, save Hamon, who shrugged elaborately. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

"Sending troops to Tenebrae will avail us nothing," Regis continued. "We cannot hold it and they have no troops of their own to bolster us. Fenestala has fallen to Niflheim. If we wish to bring aid, we must do so in some other way."

Regis rose from his chair. There was a cacophony of scrapes as everyone else scrambled to do the same. He ushered Reina out the door and followed behind, never looking back. Clarus would be exasperated. He could tell Regis precisely how much he disapproved of his behavior later. But Regis could not allow Reina to sit in that council for another hour in uncertainty.

No sooner had the door shut behind him than the expected question came. "Did I do something wrong, Father?"

"No, my dear." Regis dropped to one knee before her, taking her shoulders in his hands. "It is I who have erred. I ought to have spoken to you of this before. The council knows of your magic and some few of your premonitions, but before today they had no notion that you had any form of control over them."

"I don't understand."

"This has been kept a secret because I feared what actions the council might take if they learned the truth. It would be very easy for one request to become many, until the entire kingdom was paralyzed with indecision and the pressure for every decision was placed on your shoulders."

"But I want to help." She held her arms twisted up in front of her and chewed her lip as she looked at him.

"I know you do, my dear. I know. And you have been helping. But sometimes it is for the best if not everyone knows who has been helping them. Or that they have been helped at all. Do you understand? It is vital that we depend upon ourselves, rather than you."

She considered this. Truly considered. When at last she nodded, Regis felt certain she did understand.

"Can I still help?" She asked.

He smiled. "Reina, my dearest, you are of more help to me than you could possibly imagine. And you don't need your Dreams to do that."

She still didn't understand that she and Noctis were the only reason he had survived those first years after Aulea's death. She didn't realize that sometimes they were still the only reason he got out of bed in the morning.

Reina smiled back, though it lasted only a moment before she dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Father."

"No, my dear." Regis pulled her against his chest, hugging her fiercely. "You have done nothing wrong. It is I who am sorry."

"Are we going back upstairs?" She asked.

"Would you like to?"

She nodded.

"Then we shall." He rose and took her hand and they set off together. Clarus would be incensed that he had never returned to the council meeting after storming off. He would make his apologies later.


	8. Education

With the council meeting cut short, they arrived upstairs not more than two hours after leaving, in spite of taking a detour to Regis' office. If he was going to storm out of council meetings, he could at least do something productive in the meantime.

The lounge was empty, but there was little doubt where the boys had gone: their voices echoed up the stairs all the way from the game room. Down the hall, Crea's door stood ajar and the light was on inside, leaving little doubt where she had gone to seek a few quiet moments while Noctis was occupied. Regis was reminded that he wished to speak with her regarding particular parts of the twins' education. He was also reminded that walking into her rooms was a dangerous slope to set down.

"I suspect you will find Noctis quite easily, if you wish to join him," Regis said to Reina.

She glanced at the stairs, then back at him, wordless.

"Shall I walk with you?" He made a guess at the cause of her hesitation.

She nodded. He hugged her sideways, smoothed a hand over her head, and led her down the stairs. The raucous laughter only grew louder down here.

"That was a cheap shot."

"I believe I won it fair and square."

"Yeah, after Noct threw a shoe at me!"

The door to the game room was open. Reina pressed closer to Regis' side as they neared it, until he was struggling not to trip over her.

"You do not have to go, if you would prefer to be elsewhere, my dear," he told her.

"Mm-mm." She shook her head, watching the game room door.

She seemed adamant, in spite of her reticence.

"Very well."

They closed the last of the distance and rounded the doorway to the game room. The room had been rearranged, dragging chairs closer to the television. In spite of that, Noctis was sitting on the ground instead of in his chair, and both Ignis and Gladio were sitting on the very edges of theirs. At least until they noticed Regis in the doorway.

Ignis dropped his controller and stood at-attention. "Your Majesty." He bowed.

Noctis laughed when his voice cracked. Ignis had the good sense to ignore him this time.

"Our meeting concluded early." Technically not true. "I believe Reina would like to accept your gracious invitation."

"Yeah, of course." Gladio was also on his feet. Noctis was winning whatever game they had abandoned.

Regis glanced down at Reina, who was standing halfway behind him and looking out. She wasn't usually so shy around them. It wasn't as if she didn't see both of Noctis' friends daily.

"If you like, you may sit with me, Your Highness," Ignis said.

Reina looked up at Regis, then back to Ignis. She nodded, stepping out from behind Regis and taking to Ignis instead. They both fit in one armchair without much difficulty. For all that Ignis had gotten considerably taller, he was still quite thin. Indeed, he looked thinner now than before. Stretched, rather.

"Enjoy yourself, my dear," Regis said. Reina nodded, her face a little pinker than usual. He took his leave just as Ignis and Gladiolus realized Noctis had won while they were otherwise distracted.

Upstairs, where their voices were just distant tones, it seemed blissfully quiet. He stopped by Crea's open door and peered inside. She sat cross-legged on the sofa in her sitting room, a book open in her lap and a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table in front of her.

"Enjoying the quiet?" Regis asked.

She startled, looking up at him. "Oh—Regis—I didn't realize you'd returned." She glanced at the clock. "Early, isn't it?"

Regis winced. He could casually serve mistruths to Ignis, but Crea was a different matter altogether. "Yes, and that is a tale. One which will doubtless come in time, but not at this time."

She accepted this. "Did Reina go downstairs?"

"Yes. I was rather surprised that she chose to. She seemed unusually reserved."

"That's pretty normal." Crea shrugged and set her book aside, taking a sip of tea. "How rude of me—did you want to come in? I'll make you some tea."

"Tea sounds lovely," Regis said before he could stop himself.

She smiled and set about making him one, leaving Regis to take a seat on the sofa.

"You said that was normal," Regis said. "Normal for what?"

"For having a crush, of course."

The words entered his ears and settled in his brain, where they sat like a stone attempting to dissolve in water. He stared at Crea's still-steaming mug of tea on the coffee table without seeing it. He attempted to approach the statement from a different direction, but with no better results.

"Pardon, having a _what_?" He asked

She turned around, holding a tin of tea, and gave him that look she always wore when he was being especially thick. "A crush, Regis. I'm sorry, what did they call it in your day? A flame? Puppy love? My mother always used the phrase 'got the hots for', but I suspect she was older than even you."

Regis glared without any real vehemence. He had turned forty the past winter and was still feeling sore about it.

"I understand the concept," he said dryly.

"Well then." She turned back around to scoop tea into a float. "What's the hang up?"

"If Reina had a crush on someone, I would surely know."

She glanced over her shoulder with that look again. She didn't even both to respond otherwise; she simply turned back around and continued making tea.

"I would!"

"Regis, I believe you would know if one of your councilors had sneezed on the other side of the Citadel, but you really are _so_ oblivious in so many other ways." She poured hot water into the mug and brought it carefully across to him.

He took it, leaning back as she sat down beside him. "What, precisely, does that mean?"

"Reina has a crush on Ignis. It's been going on for a little while. Maybe a couple weeks."

Regis gaped at her. He had to set his tea down for fear of spilling boiling water on his trousers. "Why was I not notified?"

She rolled her eyes. "This is precisely why you weren't notified."

Regis shut his mouth. She was right. She most often was.

"Have you… spoken to her about it?" He asked.

"No," she said lightly. "Because she hasn't spoken to me about it. And nothing has happened that needs speaking about."

Regis sat up straight. "Do you expect something to happen?"

She laughed at him. In all of Lucis, she may very well have been the only person he permitted to laugh at him.

"No, Regis, I don't. It's just a crush. Even if it wasn't and she was sixteen—have you _met_ Ignis? I believe he would ask permission to hold hands."

"Even so." Regis picked up his tea again.

"Even so what?"

Regis sighed. "I don't know. You are, doubtless, correct. I merely…"

He wasn't sure how that sentence was supposed to end.

"Aren't ready for them to grow up?"

He preferred the sentence without an ending, to be perfectly honest. Nevertheless, he nodded.

She laid her hand over his. "I know. It's always difficult to let go when they've let you hold them so close for so long. But I think you will find that wonderful things come after this point as well. They're still growing. Changing—yes—but when you meet the wonderful young adults they're growing into, you'll be grateful you let it happen."

"As if I could stop it."

She smiled and squeezed his fingers. Her hand was warm from the tea. "Every time you allow them to make their own decision or walk on their own, you're letting them grow up. That isn't a bad thing, Regis."

"I know. I only wish…" He sighed. "I expect I will miss these years a great deal."

"Maybe," she said. "But I think you'll find yourself too wrapped up in everything that comes next. Your children aren't going anywhere, Regis. They're still those same kids who picked up blueberries from underneath the couch and ate them."

He smiled in spite of himself. "Thank you, Crea."

She squeezed his hand again, then released it. He wished she hadn't but knew she needed to.

"Now, what did you want to talk about?"

He had nearly forgotten what he had come for. She had a way of doing that to him. Now that he remembered, he didn't much feel like criticizing her developmental education techniques. Whatever he thought about it, she was in charge of the twins for a reason.

"I only wished to confirm with you what, precisely, you had discussed with them—besides that Noctis will inevitably experience the same circumstance he finds so amusing in Igis."

Crea laughed. "Oh, poor Ignis. I think he was really very embarrassed. I note that Gladio's voice changed first, but his hardly ever cracks."

"Clarus always was a lucky bastard."

She patted his knee. "I'm sure you gave him hell regardless. But anyway, we did discuss puberty because of Ignis and I suspect it was the first time Ignis had heard much of it as well." She winced. "You really should curate his education to include something more practical than administration and ballroom dancing."

"I can see to it he's added to your list of responsibilities."

He felt the urge to duck, but resisted. She, evidently, resisted the urge to throw something at him.

"I will take him regardless, because he really is a sweet boy who could do with a little more gentle guidance in his life."

"You are well placed to give him that, if you wish," Regis said. "So you discussed Ignis' unfortunate voice."

"Mhm. And a few other changes that boys and girls go through around this age."

"And girls?" Regis' voice cracked. And suddenly he was fourteen again.

Crea fought the smile and lost. "Yes, Regis. Reina was there and we weren't only going to talk about boys, so we talked about both."

"I see." Regis cleared his treasonous throat. "And that is… good?"

He wanted to say 'alright', but something stopped him. If it wasn't, she would never have done it.

"Of course. If everyone was a little more transparent with their children I think we could fight a lot of gendered stigmatas."

"I defer to your superior knowledge," Regis said. "Did you discuss… anything else?"

"Sex?" Crea asked bluntly.

Regis' face felt hot. When he had grown up, such things had been carefully locked away in a cupboard and not spoken of in polite conversation.

"No," she said. "That tends to come a little later, but it is worth considering how much later."

"I suppose there is no use suggesting that it be a great deal later?"

"None at all."

"That is what I feared."

"They're eleven, Regis."

"I _know_." When he said the same sentence, it meant they were too young. Somehow in her voice it meant they were old enough.

"What age do you think girls start puberty?" She asked, exasperated.

"Fifteen?"

"I pity your school teachers," she said. "Eight to thirteen, Regis. _Eight_ to thirteen."

"That is much too early."

"Well, I'm sure you'll have a talk with Eos about it, then. Get Her to change things around. When you're down there, you might ask about the female reproductive system in general because it really is frightfully inefficient."

His face had gone hot again.

Crea took pity on him. "Boys usually go through puberty later than girls do. That isn't something to be concerned about. I spoke with her about it some time ago; I'm sure she'll be fine."

"No thanks to their father," he said.

"Oh, I don't know. He had the good sense to hire me."

An impulse crossed his mind as he sat there on her couch, admiring the teasing grin on her face. He could kiss her right there. He could put everything back together. If he had half her good sense, he would ask her to marry him again.

And she would say no again.

And all this would begin again.

He turned away to fight the impulse. "Thank you, Crea. The tea was lovely and you never fail to overwhelm me with your wisdom and good sense. I should be returning to my work, however."

"Of course." Was it his imagination or was there a touch of melancholy about her as he set his cup down and walked away?

It was better not to turn back and see for certain.


	9. Promises

Regis was awoken by a series of sharp knocks to his door.

"Your Majesty! Please come quickly!"

He was out of bed and at the door before his mind caught up with his legs. He yanked it open and found himself face to face with Avun. Behind him stood Crea, holding Noctis—who was much too big to be carried. All three of them held too-wide eyes in pale face.

"The princess, Your Majesty—" Avun began.

"Reina's Dreaming," Crea cut him off. "We can't wake her."

Regis pushed past the small crowd at his door and swept down the hall. The door to the twins' room sat fully open and within Reina lay in the middle of her bed, blankets thrown back, sprawled in an awkward position. She did not writhe or cry out as she often did when in the throes of a Dream, but her brow furrowed and her lips moved as if she spoke. No sound came out.

"She was talking in her sleep." Noctis had caught up with him. "I tried to wake her up, but…"

If he said more, Regis never heard the words. He lowered onto the edge of Reina's bed and took her hand gently in his. He reached after her with his magic. The line that bound her to her physical self was a faint, pearly white strand, no thicker than a cobweb. He nearly feared to touch it, lest it break and he lose her altogether. But if he did not call her back, the result would be much the same.

"Reina." He called out to her with his voice, first, hoping to strengthen the connection. "Come back to me, little princess." He struggled to keep his voice steady. To his ears, it sounded tremulous and terrified. Her fingers were icy cold in his. He tried not to think what that meant.

It seemed to him that the strand of magic strengthened, but it could merely have been his hopes playing tricks on his mind. He waited as long as he dared. Then he reached out and grasped the strand of her magic with his, as gingerly as he could manage.

"Wake up, Reina." He set aside his fears and put as much command into his tone as he could muster.

He took no breaths with which to measure the time that passed. The only reason he knew it was seconds and not hours was because he was conscious still. The line of Reina's magic shortened and thickened in his grasp. He pulled gently and she responded in kind.

"Open your eyes, my dear. Open your eyes and look at me."

She was near enough to obey his words. Her eyelids fluttered open, not quite seeing, not quite conscious.

"Just me. Nothing else." He cupped her face in his hands, leaning over her as he drew her slowly back to her center. " _See me_."

With his final words he pressed her core of being into place and she snapped fully into her body. Awake. Cognizant. Her eyes focused on him. When they did, the familiar disorientation and confusion set in.

"Father…?"

"Just me." He exhaled slowly. Only now did he realized how light-headed he had become. He uttered a silent thanks to whatever luck had led Noctis to wake in time. If she had Dreamed, unhindered, all night, Regis had no notion what would have happened.

Perhaps she would have Dreamed forever.

"Are you alright, Rei?" Noctis was at his knee, hovering along the edge of her bed.

"I'm okay…" She pushed herself upright and Regis allowed his hands to fall away from her face. She glanced around the room, reorienting herself in the present. When she did, she looked back to Regis. "I went to look for Niflheim and see if they would attack when we went to Tenebrae. But I… I think I got lost."

Her words ran cold in his blood. The relief drained from his stomach.

"You did this yourself?" He asked.

"Yes, Father." She rubbed one eye, then the other.

He fought to keep hold of his rational self. She was only eleven. A child, with a suggestion implanted in her mind by a scheming man with more mischief in his blood than could ever do good. But this was precisely why he had wanted her magic kept separate from the kingdom in the first place.

"Reina, we discussed this." He could keep his voice level, despite his rising anger, but he could not keep the steely cold note from shining through. Both were a consequence of ruling Lucis for nearly twenty years.

"I know, Father. I'm sorry." She cast her eyes downward.

"I fear 'sorry' is woefully insufficient. You must understand the severity of your actions. You have endangered yourself on a councillor's whim. Master Hamon has no notion how your magic works. Indeed, you hardly understand, yourself. And yet for the sake of a matter I have personally told you is of no significance, you throw yourself in harm's way without a thought for the consequences. You cannot afford to be so foolhardy or reckless. Until you prove you can be trusted with such a dangerous responsibility, I forbid you from Dreaming. Entirely."

Her head snapped up and she gaped at him.

"She was just trying to help!" Noctis turned so he faced Regis, as if he could place himself as his sister's shield.

"The best intentions do not justify foolish actions. This is a lesson you will both find crucial in years to come." Regis rose. "Go back to bed. Both of you. I will hear no more on the subject of Dreaming."

He turned on his heel and left, followed closely by Avun.

"Is there anything you need, Sire?"

"Nothing." Save a pair of children who understood the strength of their magic and the consequences for misuse.

He returned to his rooms but not his bed. Instead he pulled on a dressing robe, ordered the fire kindled in his lounge, and sat in his armchair, staring out over the nighttime lights of Insomnia and contemplating the poor choice of a glass of brandy. For all it might have solved some problems, he discarded the thought with a sour taste in his mouth. Had he not just lectured his daughter on her responsibility not to make foolish choices?

He sat in motionless silence for near thirty minutes before someone tapped at his door. He did not move to answer it, nor call to admit them. It was near on two in the morning. Hardly a time to visit the king, save in the case of emergency.

The tap came again.

"Regis?" Crea called. "Don't tell me you've gone back to bed. I know you won't sleep after that."

He sighed and ran his hands over his face. Crea. The only person in Insomnia who sounded tolerable at the moment. He rose and went to the door, pulling it open enough to admit her. When she was inside he shut the door and returned to his seat by the fire.

She didn't say anything. She just came to stand beside his chair and followed his gaze to the flames licking up the pile of logs in the hearth.

"I should never have brought her to the council meeting." Regis said, once the silence between them had grown too thick. He found himself telling the full story of what had occurred that day when Reina had attended council with him and the conversation that had followed between them. Crea stood silent throughout, looking at him, though he could only bear to stare at the fire.

"I asked her not to Dream for them," he said. "She has never disobeyed me before."

"She's growing up, Regis." Perhaps she meant it to be a consolation or an explanation. But it only nettled him.

"Is this what growing up entails? Children who endanger themselves?"

"Not necessarily. But they are bound to begin making their own choices and some of them will be mistakes. Some of them you won't agree with."

"This was more than a mistake. A parent does not allow his child to dive into a lake before learning to swim, no matter how she desires it."

"Then teach her to swim."

"I don't know how!" Regis pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. His volume had risen beyond what was appropriate. Crea had a way of drawing him out of propriety and breaking down his walls. Even now she stood, unmoved by his outburst, and regarded him levelly.

"Then supervise while she teaches herself. That's what you were doing before, wasn't it?"

Regis sighed. "It was."

Three years ago. And that had gone on for some time. Her magic and control had both strengthened until she seemed to have some grasp on what caused a Dream. He had thought, foolishly, that she was in control and so when she had begged him to allow her to continue on her own, he had consented—albeit warily. She had never given him cause to regret that choice. Until tonight.

But Crea was right. Forbidding Reina from using her magic was not the solution. It was dangerous and she needed to learn to control it properly. If she would defy him in this, then perhaps she would only continue to dabble without his consent and endanger herself further. He could not afford that.

Crea's hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up to find her watching him sympathetically.

"I don't fully understand how any of your magic works," she said. "But it seems like something she will have whether you want her to or not. You will not always be able to stop her from trying to use it. So let her satisfy her curiosity more safely."

"She has still disobeyed my wishes," Regis said. "I dare not allow that to pass without note."

"And endangered herself in the process," Crea agreed. She crossed her arms over her chest, chin tucked, as thoughts crossed over her face.

Regis waited. He had already made enough of a mess of this situation in his anger. Better to let Crea decide a suitable punishment.

"Firstly, given the situation, I think it would be wise to forbid her from attending any meetings with you until she understands the situation better," Crea said at length.

"I would agree, but she chooses to be away from me as often as not these days. It is hardly a punishment."

"I suspect it will affect her more than you think. Choosing not to do something when the option is presented is very much different than being forbidden from it. That, combined with forbidding her to Dream without supervision should be sufficient. The alternatives would do more harm than good, I think," she said.

"Such as?"

"Such as taking away her play date privileges when her social interactions are scarce as is is."

Regis winced. "Doubtless you are correct." He sighed a pinched the bridge of his nose. "Very well. I shall do as you recommend. I daresay I ought to have done so from the beginning."

"You were afraid for her, and that always makes you short-tempered," Crea said. "I'm sure most parents in Insomnia could say the same."

"I pride myself in being more well composed than most parents in Insomnia."

She smiled crookedly. "For most situations, maybe. But when your children are in danger, the father steps out from behind the king."

As if he were two separate people. Sometimes it felt as if he were.

"He shook his head. "Should I see her now or wait until morning?"

"They were both awake when I left them, if that's what you're asking," she said. "So I would recommend speaking with her now. The longer you wait the more likely the hurt will turn into anger."

"Anger?"

"She believes she was just trying to help. The longer she thinks about it the more she'll think she was justified in it."

It was difficult to imagine Reina getting angry, least of all at him. Disbelief must have showed on his face, for she added, "She is your daughter, after all."

Regis pushed himself out of his armchair. "Stubborn to a fault and unwilling to apologize?"

Crea smiled. "Something like that."

He went, as recommended. The lights were off in the twins' rooms—all save the starry night light that had been their companion for their whole lives—but hushed voices came from within. The door was ajar. Regis tapped on it anyway. The whispered conversation halted in an instant and through the dim light he could just see Reina and Noctis both laying in Noctis' bed, staring at him.

"Reina? May we speak?"

She nodded, pushing herself upright and forcing Noct to let go of her. Regis entered, pulling up his usual chair in the corner between their beds and taking a seat.

"I apologize for how harshly I spoke before." He braced his forearms across his knees and leaned forward. "For a moment while you Dreamed I feared I had lost you, and I reacted poorly. Can you forgive me?"

She merely nodded, lips pressed tightly together. Behind her, Noctis had sat up and braced against her back. His gaze said he was less prepared to forgive Regis' harsh words to her, but perhaps Reina's grace would temper him. If one of them had inherited his disposition—as Crea suggested—it was Noctis.

"I am still displeased that you disobeyed me, my dear. And I must impress upon you the severity of your actions. When you Dreamed tonight and lost yourself in the In-Between, I nearly failed to pull you back. I suspect I would have, had Noctis not woken in time to summon me." One more reason to bless the bond between them. "I shall not forbid you to Dream. But I shall forbid you to Dream on your own. You must not enter the Black River without my supervision anymore. Not until you are skilled enough to find your way back even after becoming lost. Is that clear?"

Again her head bobbed wordlessly.

"And, in punishment for disobeying me and endangering yourself, I am forbidding you from accompanying me while I work. Until further notice you will not be permitted to attend court or council meetings, nor sit with me in my office. You must earn that right by showing me you can control yourself and act responsibly, as befits a princess of Lucis."

At his words, tears swelled in her eyes. He had almost expected her to take this news with the same stoic silence she had taken the others. But Crea had been right. As she usually was. He was far enough removed from the thundering fear from before that he nearly regretted his choice to do this to her. She had never disobeyed him before. Surely he could show her lenience just this once.

But no. Had Crea not agreed that Reina should face the repercussions for her actions? If he did not enforce them this first time, what would prevent the next time? And if he gave her no punishment now, how could he justify doing so later? He would stand firm. But that did not mean he needed to be unfeeling.

He held his hands out to her and Reina climbed out of Noctis' bed and into Regis' lap.

"I know this will be difficult for you, my dear." He held her tight against his chest and smoothed her hair back from her face. "And it does not mean that I love you less than I ever have. Rather, it means I love you so much that I cannot allow anyone to endanger you unchallenged. Not even yourself. You are of an age now when you are beginning to listen during court and council and understand what is going on. But until you are old enough to fully understand the consequences of your actions, I fear you must remain separate from the affairs of the kingdom."

Reina swiped at her eyes. "I'll be responsible, Father. I'll be good."

"Good girl. Show me that, and perhaps you can persuade me to change my ruling sooner rather than later."

For a time they sat in near silence. Reina sniffled and Regis dried her tears, but the hurt, he sensed, was assigned to herself rather than him. Whether he believed Crea's words or not—that she would have grown angry with him if left alone too long—he preferred not to find out the truth of them. This was the best he could ask for, given the circumstances.


	10. Winter

Weeks passed with little event. Regis and Reina resumed her Dreaming lessons—though not every night and always with him sitting in the chair beside her bed for those thirty minutes. Despite the look of longing on her face when he left in the afternoons when she might otherwise have had the choice to accompany him, he managed to enforce his restrictions on her. She was not permitted in court or council.

Lucis delivered its response to Niflheim via Tenebrae, accepting the proposed betrothal of Prince Ravus to Princess Reina. Ravus was scheduled to arrive in Insomnia after the start of the next year, giving both nations time to make necessary arrangements. This information was held only by the council. That Ravus would be coming to Insomnia would need to be public knowledge. The precise reason for his visit could be fabricated.

Reina seemed pleased to hear she would see him again, much as Noctis was disappointed only Ravus would be coming. Beyond that, the twins seemed to give little thought to the situation, which was precisely what Regis had intended. They attended school. So far as Regis could tell, they made no friends.

At home they played together, on their own, or with their Citadel friends. Though Reina had once been reluctant to join in on Noctis and Ignis' interactions, having labelled Ignis as belonging to Noctis' retinue, she now seemed to do so freely. More than once Regis watched her scoot closer to him on the sofa until he was forced to move his arm and give her that space. If he didn't notice the admiring looks she cast him, he was near as oblivious as Regis. Then again, young boys tended to be. In any case, she was only eleven. And growing quickly.

That fall, Crea took her shopping for garments Regis preferred not to associate with his daughter. She laughed when she told him. She had known full well what his reaction would be. Sometimes he believed she delighted in torturing him. Sometimes he believed he never would have had it any other way.

Winter came, and with it a familiar melancholy. He watched the snow fall from the mausoleum while Reina and Noctis trudged through the gardens and hurled snowballs at each other. He smiled. How could he not? But even that was bittered in the cold.

"I wish you could have seen them, my love…" he whispered to the brass nameplate and empty flower vase. "You would have loved them so much."

Boots sounded on the stone floor and echoed through empty, arched halls. Regis turned to find Reina and Noctis, cheeks flushed and out of breath, standing in the entryway. Both of them were caked with snow; the round mark of a snowball stuck to the front of Noctis' coat and Reina's hair, escaped from her hood, was frozen in a blob of ice.

Reina offered up a hesitant smile and came to stand beside Regis, taking his hand with her wet gloves.

"Hullo, Mama," she said to the plaque. "Noct's here, too."

She looked back toward the entrance and Noctis came, a little more reluctantly.

"Hi Mom." He scuffed his boot against the stone floor.

"We love you," Reina said brightly.

Regis pulled her in front of him and hugged her tight against his chest, clenching his teeth against the tears. They spilled out anyway, catching in his beard until he bowed his head and let them fall on the tiles. Reina squirmed in his grip, turning to face him.

"Don't cry, Father…" She pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at his cheeks. "Mama wouldn't want you to cry."

He smiled through the tears. "No. She would have called me a great fool."

Reina smiled back. She dried his cheeks and he took a shaky breath, forcing the rest back. He kissed her forehead and hugged her fiercely.

"Thank you, my dear. You look very much like her, when she was your age."

They stood for an indefinite amount of time longer. At some point Ignis appeared to check in on them and Noctis, thankful for some excuse to leave the morose setting, left with him. Reina remained. She stayed tucked up to his chest, letting him hold onto her for as long as he wished, but for the most part they stood in silence.

Aulea would have been so much better at all this. If they had to be deprived of one parent it should have been him. She would have known how to talk to Reina about all the important things that Regis had no concept of. And she would have been able to smile as they grew up and drifted away. She stood in the field of his imagination, white dress caught in the breeze, and blew a kiss, waving goodbye. Yes, she would have been able to let go.

Reina tugged on his arm. He tore his eyes away from Aulea and looked down at her.

"It's getting dark, Father."

He looked up and out the window. Had it not been morning when they had come down to the grounds? Surely it was much too early for the sun to set. But he knew that wasn't correct. His feet were numb from the cold, his muscles all stiff and protesting the long stretch of standing without movement.

"I apologize, my dear. You did not need to stay with me so long."

"Master Amicitia said not to leave you alone today."

"He told you that?"

"Mm-mm." She shook her head. "He told Miss Crea."

Of course he had. Nosy bastard.

"I note that Miss Crea has left me alone," Regis said. He almost wished she hadn't, but the guilt of loving her was worse on these days.

"Mhm. She knows I'm here." Reina smiled up at him.

Regis smoothed her hair back. His hands were ice, but she didn't seem to mind. She beamed as he kissed her forehead and brighter when he thanked her again for her attentiveness. Then she tugged at his arm and pulled him toward the door. He let her pull him away, though he stared at Aulea's plaque, one halting step after another, until it was out of sight.

Their evening was subdued. The council knew better than to pile work on Regis today and Avun had wisely cleared his entire schedule, though he had insisted he would only take a few hours to visit Aulea in the morning. Avun knew him better than he did.

After a quiet meal they retired upstairs for pajamas and hot tea or cocoa. Ignis had graduated to tea. Whether he thought he was now too old for hot chocolate, Regis could not guess, but no one made a better cup of tea than Crea. Eventually Clarus joined them, giving Regis a tight smile and a slap on the shoulder, and Reina volunteered to perform an impromptu concert. It was lovely, just as all her music was. Bright and beautiful, not unlike the child herself. Somewhere in the midst of that, Cor slipped in more or less unnoticed and leaned against the wall behind Regis.

This was his family, odd though it may have been. His brothers—or those who were still in Insomnia—his children—of which Ignis may as well have been counted one—and, for lack of a better descriptor, his children's mother. Nanny certainly did not do justice to all she did for them.

It was peaceful. As peaceful as it could be, in any case. He fell asleep in his bed, not empty and cold as he might have expected, but with two growing children who wouldn't both fit for much longer.

The new year came, and with it Regis' 41st birthday. Here was yet another reason to detest the winter. The Crown City celebrated in what had become an annual ball, despite Regis' best attempts to keep it otherwise. It was, his councilors reasoned, more or less the only time most members of the larger public had any hope of seeing or interacting with him. It served its purpose, but he still would have preferred a quiet evening with his children.

Crea attended and looked breathtaking in her gown. Regis had to fight to keep his eyes from straying to her too often. As opposed to the first of these celebrations she had attended, she dealt with this one masterfully. When she was not needed by Reina or Noctis she was drawn into conversations with guests. In fact, Regis was surprised to note how many people were eager to speak with her. She couldn't possibly know these courtiers… could she? He tried not to dwell.

For his part, Regis kept mostly to Cor and Clarus, though it was difficult to entirely avoid the guests when this event was in honor of him. Not that it would have made any difference if it were not. He garnered attention wherever he stood. So he smiled and exchanged pleasantries and politely declined each request for a turn on the dance floor.

They ought to have known better by then. He would have danced with a grand total of two people present at the ball. One he was not permitted to show any but a professional interest in. So he danced with his daughter. She seemed concerned not at all to be the sole recipient of his attention in this respect. But he did notice her eyes trailing away to where Noctis stood with his two friends.

When their waltz concluded and he led her off the floor, he made a detour on the way back toward his throne.

"Ignis."

"Your Majesty!" Ignis bowed so rapidly he spilled his water on the floor.

"I apologize. I had no intention of startling you," Regis said. "I merely wished to deliver a request. Princess Reina would very much like to dance, but is rather too reserved to ask any boys of her age. Would you indulge a father and brighten her evening?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. I would be honored." Ignis bowed again. Thankfully, his glass was already empty.

"Thank you, Ignis."

He turned to go, caught Noctis' eye, and gave him a smile and a wink. If Crea was correct—and she always was—and Reina did have her eye on young Ignis, Regis would have been very surprised indeed to learn Noctis didn't know. They couldn't have kept secrets from each other if their lives depended on it.

He did not resume his throne, but took a glass of wine from a server and stopped on the bottom stair, watching the dance floor. As anticipated, Ignis had dutifully approached Reina and executed a flawless request to dance. They were only half a turn around the floor when someone came up beside Regis.

"Why, Your Majesty, I never thought you had it in you!" Crea stood on the same step and even so a few inches below him. But a few inches less than usual.

"Have you grown?" He inspected her critically.

"I'm wearing heels, you nincompoop. And _you_ are playing matchmaker."

Regis raised an eyebrow. "Nincompoop is a word not often spoken by those above a certain age."

"I'm a child at heart, what can I say? How do you think I get along with them so well?"

"Ah." Regis took a drink of his wine. "The pieces come together."

"Are you avoiding this discussion?"

"No." Regis glanced back out toward the dance floor, where Ignis was leading Reina in an unsurprisingly skillful waltz. He doubtless danced more than Regis did. "Merely delaying it."

"A few months ago you were adamantly against the idea of Reina liking anyone at all," Crea said.

"Yes…" He still wasn't sure how it all fit together in his heart and mind. One thing, however, he was certain about. "But look at her. She's smiling. Laughing. How could I object when that is the effect he has on her?"

When he looked again, Crea was smiling at him.

"You worry so much about all of this," she said. "But underneath you really are an excellent Father to them."

She left, smiling over her shoulder at him, while he was still frozen and gaping at her. He didn't deserve it. Yet somehow, regardless, he had the approval of his foremost expert in childcare.

His evening was less dull after that.


	11. Prince Ravus Nox Fleuret

All of the Crown City was alight with activity. The last time they had welcomed a foreign attache, it had been the Oracle almost ten years ago. Not a single news station in the kingdom did not have cameras trailing as the cars precessed through the city. But within the Citadel, it was relatively quiet. A buzz of unusual activity still hummed under all and the servants moving in and out of the throne room whispered a little more hurriedly and eagerly to each other before disappearing again. It was a sort of holiday, so to speak.

Regis sat upon his throne, waiting. On his right stood Noctis, on his left Reina. Noctis fidgeted in his suit, picking at the seams and tugging at the hems. Reina stood statue still, hands clasped in front of her and eyes fixed on the door. When at last they opened, she inhaled sharply and did not appear to exhale.

"His Royal Highness, Prince Ravus Nox Fleuret!"

The crier stepped aside to leave the way open. From behind him came a young man dressed in Tenebrae white. He paused just inside the door, unmatched eyes sweeping the room for a moment before they settled at the far end where the throne stood. He had grown. It was easier to appreciate in person than on camera. He must have been taller than Regis, though still filling out.

He fixed his eyes and walked down the length of the room. Reina's clasped hands came up underneath her chin. When at last Ravus reached the stairs, he dropped to kneel before them.

"Your Majesty. Your Highnesses," he said, head bowed.

Reina twisted back and forth so that her dress brushed against the side of the throne.

"Rise, Prince Ravus. Lucis welcomes you. My daughter is most pleased to see you again."

Ravus climbed to his feet, his eyes moving from Regis to Reina. An easy smile settled on his face. Though he may have grown and his features had become more angular and distinct, the smile was what Regis remembered most. He had always smiled freely.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Princess Reina. I hope my visit will not be cut so short as yours." At this, however, the smile slipped from his face and his expression hardened. He looked back to Regis. "My mother sends her regards, Your Majesty. She wishes she could have come as well."

Regis had no doubt that was true. He couldn't say the same for himself.

Instead he chose the diplomatic response. "Your mother and I have known each other for many decades. I hope you will come to know my children as well."

All of the proper introductions were exchanged and the appropriate greetings given. After, Regis sent Clarus along to show Ravus where he and those members of his household who had come along with him would stay within the Citadel.

No sooner had the doors closed behind him than Reina was holding onto the arm of Regis' throne, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet. She had held her public face admirably well. Until then.

"Can I go see him, Father? I want to talk to him and tell him all about everything that has happened."

Regis covered both her hands with one of his own. "In time, my dear. He will be staying quite some time; I expect you will have ample opportunity to do so."

She was not, however, much going to like the idea of a chaperone. And yet she would have one anyway. Not through any misgivings of Regis', in particular, but for appearance's sake.

Though he gave both of his children the offer of being excused from court with Crea, Reina declined, insisting she would stay until she could see Ravus. She was not, however, her usual picture of patience. She fidgeted in his lap, squirming around and pulling at her dress until even Regis was impatient for Clarus to return.

He wrapped one arm around her, pulling her closer to murmur in her ear while others spoke. "My dear, I really must ask you to sit patiently. I enjoy your presence and would detest sending you away, however there are times when we must focus on what we do not wish to."

She stilled in his lap, catching his eye and nodding once. After, she was less restless, at least externally. She leaned back against him, held onto his arm, and sat very still for another hour until Clarus returned.

"Prince Ravus has been settled in his rooms," Clarus announced. More quietly, for Regis' ears only, he added, "Nothing uncouth was found on his person or among his luggage."

Interesting. And not altogether comforting. Regis considered, tapping his fingers on the arm of his throne and no longer following the discussion in the throne room. Niflheim would not have sent him to Lucis without some expectation of gaining from it. This betrothal bought them a pair of eyes and ears in Insomnia. Why would they send him unladen with some manner of recording device?

He mused on this for a time longer before announcing his intention to speak with Prince Ravus himself. It was simply impossible to leave Reina behind once she knew where he was going, and so they went together. She skipped beside him once they were outside of the throne room. There was no need to burden her mind with suspicions of her friend when she was so keen to see him again. After all, they were only suspicions.

They retired to Regis' private drawing room. Servants laden with tea trays arrived not long after, but Reina was too distracted even to choose a cookie from the tray. She spun circles around the room. Regis smiled just to watch her. He expected such exuberance from her brother—or he had, once—but they had both quieted after that mess with the daemon. Now he saw this side of her only rarely. He treasured each time.

They waited no more than ten minutes. Regis nursed a cup of tea until the knock came to the door. He bade them enter and Avun appeared to announce Ravus, who stood in the doorway behind him. Reina retained her composure until Avun had withdrawn and shut the door before she made a running leap to give Ravus a hug and what she, no doubt, considered a proper greeting.

Regis had been concerned, though he hadn't realized it until then. She was so excited to see him, but Ravus had grown quite a great deal in the past few years. Whatever he said of her, she must still have been but a little girl to him. And she was. But she was simultaneously so much more.

Watching them now, seeing the look on Ravus' face as he hugged her back and swept her off her feet to spin her around, Regis' worries dissolved. He was pleased to see her again. That was not a reaction to be simply contrived.

Reina laughed until Ravus set her back on her feet. Then she hugged him around the middle and said, "I missed you, Ravus."

" _I_ missed _you_ ," he said. "I regret we weren't able to say goodbye before you left so suddenly."

Ravus glanced between her and Regis. He didn't know. Of course he didn't know; he had no reason to. Regis had written nothing telling in his note to Sylva and, even within Lucis, Reina's secret was well kept.

"We didn't have time." Reina looked over her shoulder at Regis. He shook his head a fraction of an inch to either side, denying the permission she asked for. If Ravus did not know, there was no reason to tell him. Not, leastways, until they knew precisely how Niflheim was benefitting from him.

She accepted his unspoken order—though she would question him about it later, doubtless—and pulled Ravus to the sofa across from Regis.

"I gather the two of you have a great deal of catching up to do," Regis said. "I would ask Princess Reina to be your guide about the Citadel."

Reina brightened at this. Regis lifted a hand before she could interject. "I regret that I will be unable to accompany. There are, however, matters of significance that I wish to discuss with you as soon as possible, Prince Ravus."

"I am at your disposal." Ravus smiled as Reina passed him a cup of tea on a saucer.

"Reina." Regis called her attention away from choosing a selection of cookies for Ravus. "I must ask that you step outside so that I might speak privately with Prince Ravus."

Her face fell and he hated himself for it. Nevertheless he stood firm; a growing girl she may have been, but there were some things he meant to protect her from for as long as possible. Once it was clear to her that he was immovable on this point, she dropped her eyes.

"Yes, Father," she murmured. She rose and excused herself from the room.

In her absence Regis and Ravus sat regarding each other silently across the coffee table.

"I trust you find the accommodations to your liking," Regis said.

"You seem to have spared no expense," Ravus said lightly. "But tell me, King Regis. Is it common in Lucian hospitality to have your guests and their luggage searched upon arrival?"

His eyes flashed with something sharper. An easygoing young man he may have been on the surface, but he was Sylva's son and a prince in more than just name. He wore a look that would have been at home on Regis' face.

"No." Regis lifted his cup of tea, drank, and set it back on the table. "Nor is it common for Lucis to accept a guest on the behest of Niflheim."

"Touche." A smile quirked his lips. "Did you think they had sent me with incendiary devices?"

Regis said nothing, Ravus studied him across the table.

At length he answered his own question. "No. You expected monitoring devices. Mother said you were sensible, but I'll admit I had no chance to witness it during your brief visit to Tenebrae."

There was an unspoken question hiding behind his words. If Lucis was so solidly against Niflheim, how had Regis known they would attack Fenestala two years ago? A strong start to an alliance this was, both suspecting the other of collusion with the enemy.

"I regret we had little time for social visits," Regis said. "Though it pleases me to see you still think fondly of my daughter."

"A man should think fondly of his betrothed, wouldn't you agree? Or are we not, in fact, betrothed in the law of Lucis?"

He was shrewd for one so young. If he was, in fact, a reliable enemy of Niflheim, he could become a valuable ally.

"No." Regis saw no reason to deny it. "You are not."

"And do you intend for us to be?"

Regis took another drink of his tea and said nothing.

Ravus laughed derisively. "I can see this will be a profitable alliance."

"Prince Ravus, you are more than sharp enough to understand my reluctance to disclose any of Lucis' plans to you or, indeed, speak of them anywhere within your earshot. Niflheim has sent you to us and I can think of only one reason they would agree to do so."

"Lucis has accepted me and I can think of no reasons you would do so," Ravus said. "And don't tell me it was a favor to my mother. I believe you despise her still."

"We have had our disagreements."

"That seems a mild description of what I have witnessed." His tone was light, without rancor. Whatever else he believed, he did not seem to hold Regis' ill opinion of Sylva against him.

"It seems we are at an impasse," Regis said, "Until one is prepared to trust the other with an answer. As you have trusted me enough to walk into my home, I will venture a confidence of my own. We have accepted you as a guest for two reasons. On the first account, we learn nothing about Niflheim's plans by denying their proposition. On the second, whatever I may think of your mother, it does not extend to her children, and my daughter is very fond of you, as you have perceived. It would be remiss of me not to offer you shelter if it is in my power to give."

Ravus considered him. He sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am fond of Princess Reina. I'm pleased to see her so much more at ease within her own home. She was very reticent in Tenebrae."

Regis used the pause in Ravus' words to refill his cup of tea. The silence stretched longer than that and Regis allowed it to, pouring a dollop of cream into his cup and stirring without any sense of hurry.

Finally, Ravus spoke. "My mother and sister are hostages within their own home. I agreed to leave only because I was given very little choice. I will cooperate or they will die."

Regis took a drink of his tea, sensing there was more yet to come.

"My instructions as of this point are to simply report any information of significance. I have no doubt those orders will expand in time."

And there it was. Niflheim's motivation, not so far from what Regis had guessed. Or at least a sliver of it.

"And what do you intend to report to Niflheim?"

"I don't know." For the first time a crack of uncertainty showed through, betraying his youth. "I'm terrified of what they may do if I am caught giving mis-information."

"Then we will have to think carefully about what information should be passed along," Regis said.

"You mean to help me?" Ravus asked, taken aback.

"I intend to regard you as an enemy of my enemy, if nothing else. In that regard, yes, I will aid you in ensuring that Niflheim receives believable and insignificant information."

"But you don't care if my mother dies."

"That is not accurate. For all that we have had our disagreements, I do not wish death upon her."

"What did you argue with her about?" Ravus asked. "I saw you leave her lounge that night in a pique. I don't remember seeing you speak with her at all afterward."

Regis regarded him, weighing how much to admit and how much to avoid. In spite of the fact that Ravus had admitted his purpose and all but agreed to feed the empire approved information only, Reina's secret was one he could not afford to have falling into the wrong hands.

"Suffice it to say we disagreed on the fate and importance of my children," Regis said.

"You mean the prophecy of the Chosen King?"

"In part," Regis said. "But it was Reina, not Noctis, whom we argued over."

Thoughts worked rapidly behind Ravus' mismatched eyes. "She said Reina wasn't important, didn't she? Maybe not in those words, but to that effect."

Regis lifted his cup of tea. "You know your mother well."

"You forget that I am also the extra child."

Regis set his cup down untasted as pieces clicked together in his mind. But of course. He was Sylva's son and Sylva lived by the prophecy. Her daughter was to be the Oracle who aided the Chosen King. But her son? Worse than a spare. He might inherit her kingdom—for all that it had consisted of a single building beyond Niflheim's control—but he could not become Oracle. And he would be shunted aside, forgotten in the larger scheme of things, while those more important than him worked at fate.

Ravus gave a bitter smile and dropped his gaze. "So you see, Reina and I have that in common."

"That may be true for your mother." Regis rose from his seat, Ravus following a moment after. "But you must know that within my halls, Reina is no lesser than her brother. Nor will you be, in my eyes."

Confusion and gratitude chased across his face. Regis saved him the trouble of thinking of a response.

"Come now," he said. "I have no doubt Princess Reina eagerly awaits you outside. I would not like to keep her waiting any longer than necessary. She will be an excellent guide to the Citadel for you."


	12. Fight

There was much debate, in the following days, as to what to do with Ravus and his agreement with the empire. Information would have to be passed along, if they wished to keep Sylva and Luna alive. It was not a one-time discussion. For each step they took within the kingdom, the information was carefully combed and passed along, often fragmented and without context to imitate whatever broken pieces Ravus might allegedly overhear within the Citadel.

Beyond that, life went on. Ravus became acquainted with Ignis, Gladiolus, and Iris, and reacquainted with Noctis and Reina. While Reina served often as his guide around the Citadel, they were always accompanied by Crea. This served two purposes. On the one hand, it satisfied any talkative few who might otherwise have seen Prince Ravus and Princess Reina alone together. On the other, Crea was able to pass on any relevant information to Regis. For the most part, this was scarce.

"She likes him," Crea told him simply one night after he had put the twins to bed.

"I thought she liked Ignis."

"Regis, you know life isn't so simple."

He did. But he had thought it remained simple a little longer than eleven years.

Spring sprung. Reina and Noctis returned to school, much to Reina's chagrin, and Ravus was left to his own devices for the majority of the day. On the hope of giving him something to occupy himself with and some way to interact with others a little closer to his own age, Regis directed him toward Cor, who unceremoniously dropped him among the Crownsguard trainees. Ravus didn't seem to mind. Indeed, Cor reported he was a capable combatant.

"Could make a Crownsguard out of him," Cor noted, when the topic arose in conversation.

"He is not even Lucian."

Cor shrugged. "If he's going to marry Reina—"

"No one is marrying Reina within the foreseeable future."

Cor had only shaken his head and left Regis to labor under that delusion.

For a time it seemed a fragile peace had taken hold. Niflheim was, for the moment, at least pretending to maintain some sort of armistice with Lucis. While news from Tenebrae was scarce, it seemed at least that Lunafreya and Sylva were alive and as well as could be expected.

Doubtless that meant Bahamut would contrive some new way to antagonize Regis—or else he was counting on the spread of the Starscourge and the growing daemon threat outside the Wall to put pressure on Regis. If the latter, he had underestimated Regis. Though that would not have been the first time. But at least for now the crystal was quiet and the Draconian conspicuously absent in Regis' dreams.

The council avoided topics of Reina's Dreams outright, though insinuations were twisted in their words often enough. Thankfully, due to Reina's absence at all council meetings, there was no opportunity for any to repeat Hamon's thinly veiled attempt at manipulation.

So far as Regis could tell, Reina and Noctis were no better settled in school those days than they had been in the fall. Still, he allowed Crea to maintain authority on that point. Unless something definitive occurred to cause him to overrule her, they would remain in school on her instructions.

It was, by all accounts, a beautiful day. Nice enough that it seemed a waste to be shut up indoors, but that was where Regis was nevertheless, when Avun knocked on his study door.

"Miss Vinculum to see you, Sire." Avun bowed out of the room after announcing her.

Crea stepped in, holding her phone in her hand.

"Don't panic," she said, a poor way to begin a conversation by any standard, "But I've just received a call from the school saying that Noctis has been involved in a fight."

Regis rose so quickly his chair nearly tipped over. "What?"

"With several other students. It's unclear, but they believe Reina was, in some way, a cause," Crea said. "I was just going to drive over and see if I can't sort something out."

"Then we shall go together."Regis swept past her, pulling the doors open. "Avun. Have Cor ready my car."

Later someone else could worry about the king being seen stepping into his car with the twins' nanny. Doubtless rumors of the crown prince in a fight would be all over the city by noon tomorrow, regardless; at this point it mattered little if the press had extra fodder.

The drive was silent, but not so long as usual. It was still of an hour when traffic was moderate, provided that the main streets were avoided. The school headmistress herself met them in front of the school.

"Your Majesty." She curtseyed awkwardly. "I'm so sorry to have interrupted you."

"Headmistress Braya," Regis acknowledged, "I would be grateful to hear what occurred while we walk."

"Of course, Your Majesty." She bobbed again. "It's this way to my office, Your Majesty."

She spoke rapidly and walked nearly as fast. Whether this was driven by nervousness at having the king in her school and the prince in her office, or she simply did so naturally, Regis was grateful for the haste.

The story, as he understood it, was thus. Reina, who occasionally made strange comments that no one understood and otherwise said very little, had become ostracized from the entirety of her classmates. This much Regis knew, though he liked it no better when told by the headmistress than by Crea. While Noctis usually kept to her side, he had attempted to bridge the gap this morning. Whatever response had been made when he requested Reina be allowed to join a game, it had not been to his liking. Staff had come running at the first sound of shouts, but by the time they had reached Noctis, punches had been thrown. Even four against one, the grounds staff had been forced to drag Noctis away for the safety of the other children.

Oh, Noctis. Regis winced inwardly. He was old enough to understand that of all the children on the playground, he and Reina were the only two who had years of combat training at the hands of the merciless Gladiolus. That training was never for use against peers.

They reached the headmistress' office while she was still inventing apologies. Inside, in a pair of chairs pushed up against one wall, were Reina and Noctis. Reina was unharmed, if a little pale. Noctis, however, had a split lip and a smudge of blood on his nose, which suggested it had been bleeding.

His son, the crown prince of Lucis, had begun a fight with four other children. He was not in immediate danger. Regis could not afford to appear lenient on him; everything Regis did, everything he said within this school would be watched and weighted and printed in newsprint. This was a poor time to appear a weak father.

Crea, however, had no such restrictions. She knelt beside Noctis' chair, murmuring a few quiet words to him and Reina before licking her handkerchief and rubbing the blood from his face.

Regis turned back to the headmistress. "What is the accepted punishment for a child who has instigated violence on school grounds?"

Her eyes moved from him to Noctis and back. "Your Majesty, I…"

"Headmistress Braya, my son will face the consequences for his actions, just as any other child would. His title does not protect him from that. What is the punishment?"

"Suspension, Your Majesty." She stared at her feet. "The length varies depending on the case, but…"

"If he were any other child?" Regis pressed.

Again she glanced at Noctis. A tremor surfaced in her hands and she clasped them in front of her. "Two weeks, Your Majesty."

"Very well," Regis said. "What must be done to arrange this?"

Her mouth opened and closed without any sound coming out. She tried again. "I'll just need you to sign a form saying we have discussed and agreed upon this, and that Noctis isn't permitted on school grounds for two weeks."

Regis motioned for her to continue. She scurried behind her desk and riffled through papers, searching a few folders with shaking hands before she found what she was looking for. She laid out the piece of paper on her desk, mumbling half-formed words as she filled in a few blanks.

"Noctis Lucis Caelum… fighting… two weeks… signed, uh…" She scrawled her name on the bottom and pushed the page gingerly across the desk toward him, along with her pen. "There you are, Your Majesty. If you could just sign at the bottom…"

Regis skimmed over the page, too accustomed to reading paperwork to sign a page blindly. It detailed, as expected, the terms and reason for Noctis' suspension, indicated that school work would be assembled and sent home for him by his teachers. He signed the bottom, a practiced motion he might have done in the dark and without a pen, and returned both paper and pen to the headmistress.

"Am I to understand that Reina was not involved in the conflict herself?" Regis asked.

"No, Your Majesty, she was not, but she requested that she be allowed to sit here with Noctis. She can return to her class, if you are taking Noctis back… home."

One glance was enough to assure Regis that Reina wanted nothing less than to be returned to her class while he and Noctis went back to the Citadel.

"My daughter will come with us," he said. "Do you require any further authorization to excuse her from the remainder of her day?"

"Oh—No, Your Majesty. I'll just mark down that she's excused." Her smile wavered around the edges.

"Thank you, Headmistress. Good day." He turned to leave. Crea was standing beside Noctis with her hand on his shoulder and all three of them were watching Regis.

"Come along." Regis motioned.

Cor, standing all but forgotten by the exit, pulled the door open for him and followed once they had all exited. The walk to the car was all but silent. Their footsteps seemed to sound all the louder on tile floors when no voices covered them. Reina caught up with him and took his hand in both of hers, staring up at him as they walked. He squeezed her fingers. All he could offer for comfort was a wordless smile and he did so. Still she looked between him and Noctis, tense with anxiety.

It was only once they were all closed up in the car, Regis in front with Cor and Crea in the back with the children, that anyone spoke.

Reina leaned forward in her seat as soon as she was buckled in. "It's my fault, Father, please don't punish Noctis."

"It isn't Rei's fault," Noctis said. "I hit him first."

Regis turned in his seat to look at them. Though Reina sat forward, anxious, Noctis leaned back with his head down and looked at no one. What was he to do with them?

"Tell me what happened, Noctis," he said.

It took a moment. They all waited through the silence, the only sound the hum of the Regalia's engine in the quiet cab. Eventually Noctis spoke.

"Some kids were playing a game that Rei wanted to play. She didn't want me to, but I asked if we could play with them. They said I could. But not Rei. Because she's weird." For the first time since sitting down in the car, Noctis looked up. "But she's not! She's not weird, they're just dumb and they don't know anything."

Reina, curled back into the seat, leaned against Noctis.

"I told him that yesterday and the day before, and he keeps saying she's weird. So I hit him."

"I see," Regis said. "Do you have anything to add, Reina?"

She looked between Noctis and Regis, eyes wide. "Noct was just protecting me."

"I know, my dear. But that does not excuse what he has done. Do you understand, my son? The threat must equal the retaliation. Words can be met with words but never with violence."

Noctis was looking at his knees again. "They don't listen."

"Then deaf ears must be met with deaf ears. You must remember this. You will always be held to a higher standard than others. We all are. So we must be better. The fact that you are a trained fighter while the other children are not only makes this situation more dire. Gladiolus teaches you to defend yourself. You must not use those lessons to cause harm. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

Regis glanced at Crea. The twins' attendance at school had been a sticking point for them for months now, but before today he had no strong reason to disagree with her beyond his own desire to protect them. They had been in school for nearly a full year. No progress, so far as Regis could see, had been made.

"In light of today's events I am inclined to withdraw both of you from school. You will return to your private tutors at the Citadel."

Noctis looked up sharply. "No!"

Regis raised his eyebrows. Noctis dropped his gaze.

"I'm sorry I hit those kids. I won't do it again but they're mean and when they hurt other people no one else stands up to them."

This was information that might have been useful to have in the first place. "The children you fought with are bullies?"

"I guess." Noctis shrugged one shoulder.

"And you wish to prevent them from harming anyone else?"

Again he shrugged. "There's a boy at school they push around. He just lets them do it and stares at his camera instead of saying anything."

From the look on Crea's face, this was news to her as well.

"So you have made a friend after all," Regis said.

"Not really… I just see him and I never do anything either, but I should."

Something good had come from all of this after all, it seemed.

"I see," Regis said. "I would never prevent you from protecting someone who needs it, but if you wish to remain enrolled in school once your suspension is complete, you must swear to deal with this situation in a more tasteful way."

"I promise." He met Regis' gaze levelly, a fire in his eyes that Regis had scarcely ever seen from him. This was the passion Reina brought out in her usually indifferent brother. It seemed it could be applied elsewhere, as well.

"And you, Reina?" Regis asked. "Do you wish to remain enrolled in school?"

She looked at Noctis rather than answering.

"No," Noctis said. "She doesn't. She hates it there."

"Noctis!" Reina chided.

"What? It's true! No one will talk to you because they're all stupid and you hate it."

She looked at Regis, as if to check if he was listening. It would have been difficult for him to avoid doing so, given that they were two feet away.

"I don't want you to be alone," she said.

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

Reina looked back at Regis.

"Would you like to be taken out of school, my dear?" He asked again.

Though her eyes flicked toward Noctis and the words hung hesitantly on her lips, she nodded.

"Then Miss Crea will see to it," Regis said. "Noctis, I will permit you to return to school once your suspension has been served. However, if you are involved in any other disciplinary procedures, I will withdraw you permanently."

"Okay."

"In the meantime, you are grounded."

"Okay."

Regis looked the two of them over once more before sitting back in his seat. Something, at least, had been settled, though he wasn't certain if it constituted progress. Only time would tell.


	13. Warning

Those two weeks passed with surprising regularity. Reina was withdrawn from school and private tutoring resumed for her and—at least temporarily—for Noctis. She seemed more at ease in those days and, though Regis had feared it would be short lived once Noctis returned to school without her, even that melancholy came to pass in time.

But the peace within his household did not extend without.

One morning that spring, he woke before dawn with a pressing need to visit the crystal pounding in the back of his head. The Draconian called. Each time before it had been but a summons; this time the summons came with a threat.

He went. The dull, throbbing pain was too intense to ignore for long. But he went with a growing sense of misgiving. Lucis walked a dangerous line and Regis most of all. He defied the Astrals and trusted to an ancient covenant to maintain his magic. But the threat of losing his power was only one among hundreds of repercussions he could think of from the Gods.

He reached the crystal chamber. The morning shift of guards, still bleary with sleep, straightened and saluted before letting him in. The pulsing pain grew stronger in the light of the crystal. Regis shut his eyes and gritted his teeth against it. He would withstand. Had he thought to take the easy path, he would never have turned away from the gods in the first place.

No sooner had he come to stand before the crystal than the familiar voice of the Draconian came booming through his mind.

_:Regis Lucis Caelum. The time of thy reckoning hast come.:_

"What reckoning do you intend to visit upon me?" Regis pressed his palm to his forehead, forcing the words out through the blinding pain.

_:Thou defiest the gods. Retribution will come swiftly, lest thy turn aside from thee path.:_

Swiftly had passed them by nearly three years ago. It was far too late for the Draconian to threaten swift retribution.

_:Thy lands wilt feel the rumble of the Archcaean. Thy skies wilt be blackened by the Fulgarian. Thy seas will swell with the Hydraean's wrath. Already thy people fallest to the Starscourge. Wouldst thou condemn them to death by our hands as well?:_

Regis let out a breath, forcing himself to focus through the echoing of Bahamut's voice in his pounding head. "You truly mean to waken your brethren and visit the plagues of Eos upon Lucis? Hundreds will die. Thousands."

_:Thy actions hast caused mine. And thou forgettest. I carest not for mortal lives. The path remains open to thee. Turn aside from thy sacrilege and thy people wilt be spared.:_

"Will they? Do you believe I have not learned what your prophesied future holds in store for Lucis? For all of Eos? A decade of darkness, in which hundreds of thousands will lose both lives and souls, and become the very daemons they struggle against."

_:Thy wilt doom many more with thy actions. We bring but a warning and a taste of the chaos your defiance will visit upon mortal kind.:_

"Then we will fight against your warning, just as we fight against your prophecy. I will save my people from you. Whatever this costs me, you will not win. Lucis will survive. Eos will survive."

He reached out with his magic, severing the bonds Bahamut had wrapped around him to summon him here. The sense of connection, the pounding pain, the echoing voice—all ceased.

He withdrew from the crystal chamber, the doors slamming shut with a booming echo behind him. It was early yet. Clarus would not be in the Citadel. If he hadn't slipped away beneath Avun's notice, he might have someone to send with a message. As it were, he was forced to return to the upper levels to reconnect with his attendant.

Activity was just beginning to stir in the royal levels. The sound drifting from Reina and Noctis' open door suggested that Crea was hard at work coaxing them out of bed—or Noctis at least. Avun stopped walking abruptly and looked to the elevator when Regis stepped out.

"Your Majesty." He bowed, but the title came out a sigh of relief.

Regis suppressed a sigh of his own. That had been eleven years ago. Surely by now he was permitted to walk across the Citadel on his own without anyone fearing he had killed himself?

"Avun, send for Clarus. I would speak with him in my study at the earliest possible moment."

"Of course, Sire." He bowed again, giving something like a warning glance to the Crownsguards on the elevator as he passed.

In no more than thirty minutes, Clarus was dressed and shaved and standing in Regis' office. The sun was just cresting the horizon, but clouds were brewing in the north. A simple spring storm, come to visit rain on Insomnia, or the seed of those blackened skies Bahamut had threatened?

"Did he give any indication of which disasters might be visited where? Or when?" Clarus asked.

"Nothing. But if I must make a judgement, I would expect them to occur sequentially rather than simultaneously."

"Simultaneously would be more deadly," Clarus said.

"Yes, but destruction is a mere side effect, not his motivation. He wishes for me to submit to him. That people will die is merely his way of offering motivation. With three or more sequential disasters he gives me the opportunity to feel the wrath of the astrals and give up this path."

"Then they will strike more fiercely each time," Clarus said.

"That is a reasonable assumption, yes."

"That may be all we need," Clarus said. "Leviathan is confined to attack along the coast. Most of our coastal cities are in the south. While a wave large enough to sweep through all of them could be devastating, it is still only a few settlements affected. Ramuh could cover all of Lucis in storms. I would expect that, then, to come after the Hydraean."

"But how much harm will a storm do? While black skies across the whole kingdom is an ill portent and a clear sign of the Astrals' disapproval, it is not the devastating event Bahamut has threatened."

"Perhaps Ramuh has more in store for us than a simple storm. That is the only way I can imagine a progression of this sort—The Archaean is confined in Cauthess."

"Is he?" Regis asked.

"He holds the meteor."

"Due to, if legend can be believed, some desire to protect Eos from its fall. If it were dropped or set aside, what would keep him in the crater?"

"If he left the crater he could cause catastrophic quakes across the entire continent."

Regis met Clarus' gaze grimly. "Yes. He could."

Clarus dropped into the chair across from Regis' desk. "I hate to bring up the obvious, but have you asked Reina to look into these disasters?"

"I have not."

"Do you intend to?"

Regis stared out the window. All of Insomnia was bathed in pale yellow light in the brightening dawn. A hundreds thousand people lived below in the city and a hundred thousand more outside the Wall. They were his people. His responsibility.

As was Reina.

"If they are truly to occur, she will see them," Regis said.

"Regis, you cannot protect her from this forever."

"I know."

"You can't protect her and your people at the same time."

Regis looked at him. "That I do not believe. She will see what is to come if there is disaster in our futures. There is no need for me to introduce a bias or seek to use her for my own end. The magic is hers, not Lucis'."

Clarus sighed, shook his head. "I hope you're right."

A moment passed in silence. Regis' gaze fell to the window once more but he saw nothing beyond.

"So. What are we to do?" Clarus asked at length.

"We plan evacuations, emergency services, and damage control, precisely as we would when expecting a natural disaster. Arrangements must be made, but quietly. It is of the utmost importance that news of the Draconian's ire does not spread," Regis said.

"When the first Astral wakes, people will draw that conclusion regardless."

"That may be so. Until then, breathe not a word of it. Not even to the council."

"Very well," Clarus said. "And beyond that?"

"We wait," Regis said.

And trust in Reina's will to protect Regis' well-being, both physical and mental.


	14. Fear

The days passed and life continued as it always had. Or very nearly. Noctis now spoke—occasionally and not without prodding—of the boy he had met at school. A boy named Prompto. Crea had received no further calls from school and therefore Regis concluded that no further fights had occurred between Noctis and Prompto's tormentor—whoever the unfortunate boy was. But he was given to understand that differences had been settled in one way or another. That was all he could ask for. It wasn't as if Regis had not been involved in his own fair share of scraps in his youth, as Clarus reminded him so helpfully one evening.

"You were not always the king you are now. I recall several afternoons when Weskham bandaged you up after a particularly nasty fight at school."

"Yes, thank you, Clarus," Regis noted dryly. "How ever would I get by without you here to remind me of these things?"

With a pang of regret, Regis realized the twins had been only a few years old the last time Wes had seen them. When first he had left, it had seemed he should return within a few months. But months had grown to years and, before either of them had realized, Weskham had settled down in Altissia. To have a direct line to the First Secretary was invaluable, but so, too, had Weskham been in Regis' court.

Clarus laid a hand on his shoulder and Regis came back to himself. He had been staring distantly into the fire and only realized it now.

"He would come back if you asked," Clarus said.

"And how can I ask?" Regis retorted, unable to keep the bitter note from his voice. "He has all he wanted that I could never give him. I hear Maagho is beautiful—a well-reputed and thriving bar—and that the First Secretary visits often. He has a life apart from the crown. How could I deprive him of that?"

"And yet, he is torn. As any of us would be in his place." Clarus squeezed his shoulder. "It is difficult for any of us to truly have a life apart from the crown."

"Cid seems to have managed well enough."

Clarus raised his eyebrows. "How would you know?"

Regis pulled away. "I suppose I wouldn't. All I know is what you have told me."

"One more bridge you'll mend when the opportunity presents itself," Clarus said.

"One more bridge," Regis agreed.

A knock came to the door of his private chambers.

Regis called for whoever it was to enter. He had expected Avun or a servant with some message. Instead he found Ignis, with Reina and Noctis crowded around his elbows all dressed in their pajamas. Before any explanation could be asked for or given, Reina pushed past with Chika the Chocobo clutched in her arms, climbed into Regis' lap. Noctis, holding Cat the Cactuar, followed after, but remained standing next to the armchair.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty." Ignis lingered in the doorway. "Only, they asked for a scary story and I'm afraid I took that rather to heart and told them about Adagium."

"Oh dear." Regis looked down at the child in his arms and ran his hand over her back.

"I'm not scared." Noctis clutched Cat a little closer, eyes flicking toward the darkened corners of the room. "Just Reina."

Reina made no response, nor attempt to deny it.

"I see. Well, it was good of you to come with your sister when you're feeling so brave," Regis said.

"I'm so sorry, Sire," Ignis repeated.

"No harm done, Ignis," Regis said. "I'm sure they'll be quite alright now."

Ignis withdrew, still uttering apologies to all four of them, and Regis gave the quivering Reina and ever-so-valiant Noctis a firm hug. "Would you like to sleep in here tonight?"

In spite of Noctis' insistence that he wasn't scared, he was only too eager to accept the invitation. For Reina's sake, of course. So they were both bundled off to bed while Regis made his apologies for an evening cut short to Clarus. Given that any time they had was stolen away from other tasks, Clarus took this gracefully. He withdrew with a goodnight to all three of them and left Regis to tuck the twins into his bed.

"Don't turn off the light, Father," Reina requested when he moved to do so.

"I shall leave the bedside lamp on, and the fire will remain as well. Is that sufficient?"

She looked so tiny—smaller than she had any right to be at eleven—sitting in the center of his bed with her fat chocobo plush clutched against her chest. Regis had to smile. She nodded, though only reluctantly. Noctis deferred to her. If he had any issues with the arrangement, he did not voice them, for fear of breaking his pretense. He wasn't as good an actor as he liked to believe. Had Regis ever been so young?

But with the lights thus arranged and Regis in bed beside them, both twins seemed content enough. He hoped it was more his comforting presence and a persistent belief that while he was present, nothing could harm them. But he also found it difficult to thus lie to himself. How could they still believe such a thing after all they had been through?

Nevertheless.

"I am surprised you came to my door rather than Miss Crea's." He was not, of course, searching for validation from his eleven-year-old twins. That would have been absurd.

"Miss Crea doesn't know what Adagium is. But you do, right, Dad?" Noctis asked.

"I do," Regis said, though only cautiously.

What Adagium was, was a scary story passed down through the royal family and perpetuated by boys like Noctis—and Regis' younger self—trying to scare their friends. Doubtless, Noctis would do the same thing to poor Prompto that Ignis had done to him. Not that Ignis had done so with any ill intent. His motivations were most often quite honorable, if not entirely thought through to the conclusion.

"You have to know what it is to protect someone from it," Noctis said.

"I see."

Something told him that even if Crea began tomorrow with no notion of what Adagium was, she was likely to find out before midday.

"Are you going to marry Miss Crea, Father?" Reina asked.

Regis' heart stopped.

"What makes you say that, my dear?"

She shrugged and peered up at him. "Don't you like her?"

"I like her very much."

"Well. I just wanted you to know that if you want to marry her, it's okay with Noctis and me. We like Miss Crea, too."

Oh, but to hear those words when he had no chance of doing so. They struck him hard in the chest. He had no words to give Reina in return, but he gathered her up in his arms and held her tightly.

"Thank you, my dear," he managed. "Though I fear the matter is more complicated than who likes whom, at this point."

Her little arms wrapped around his neck and she hugged him just as fiercely as he hugged her.

"I'll tell you a secret," she whispered. "I'm going to marry Ravus."

"Who told you that?" Regis asked, more sharply than he had intended.

Reina's eyes widened. "No one."

And her meaning settled in. He had very nearly betrayed his own secret to her in a moment of fear, when she had meant simply to offer up a girlish confession to improve his spirits.

He tried for a smile. "Ah, I see. And does Ravus share this resolve?"

By the dim lamplight he could see both her features and Noctis'. Reina flushed. Noctis crinkled his nose in disgust: the same face he made when complaining about kissing in movies.

"No. I mean. Maybe. I guess. I didn't ask," Reina managed.

"Well, you have time yet." Regis smoothed her hair back and smiled fondly at her. He considered cautioning her on what might happen if Ravus did not share her resolve, but there was time enough for her to learn and she was happy in her crush for now.

More concerning to Regis was the possibility that Ravus _would_ share her thoughts. But surely not. She was but a sweet child to him.

With those thoughts as comfort, Regis eventually dropped into an easy sleep with his twins for company. It had been years now since they had frequented his bed. He recalled, amidst the tornado that was a sleeping eleven-year-old, why he had requested Crea transfer them back to their own beds. And yet he also remembered, as he lay in the pre-dawn light watching their peaceful faces, why it had taken him so long to do so.

As he had predicted, no sooner were they up and about than Noctis was telling Crea all about their misadventure from the night before. In his own way.

"Adagium's going to get you, Miss Crea!" He shouted as he ran past her to go get dressed.

Reina followed at a more sedate pace, clutching Chika and frowning. "Shut up, Noct!"

"Adagium's going to get _you_. _You're_ a _Caelum_ ," Noctis called back.

"So are you!"

Crea watched them both disappear into their room before turning to Regis. "What on Eos is Adagium?"

Regis sighed. "A scary story, which I fear young Ignis has shared precisely when it was meant to be shared."

She looked no less confused.

"I shall tell you sometime. Though preferably when the children are not in earshot."

Ravus joined them for breakfast, as was not uncommon these days, and Noctis pelted him with questions about Adagium. Regis was surprised to discover that the young Nox Fleuret knew the tale of which Noctis spoke.

"I had thought it exclusively a Caelum tale," Regis noted.

"Everything that concerns the Caelums concerns the Nox Fleurets," Ravus said. "Or so my mother has told us."

It made little sense. To share with her children a tale designed to frighten young princes and princesses was unlikely to prepare them for a life aiding the royal line—if that was indeed what she intended for them. Nevertheless, he did not dispute her words.

"I'm going to take Ravus to see the park today," Reina announced loudly to change the subject.

"Me too," Noctis said. "But not for Ravus. I just want to go to the park."

"You can't come, Noct," Reina said.

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Can too."

"Can not!"

"Can I go, Dad?"

Regis cleared his throat and glanced toward Crea. He could think of no reason why not, save that Reina clearly did not want him to.

"Perhaps you should ask Miss Crea," Regis said.

Crea gave him a crooked smile, which said quite clearly she knew what he was up to, dumping this mess in her lap. But she took it with the grace that she took everything.

"Of course you can come," Crea said, "In fact, I think you should ask Ignis if he would like to come along, too."

Clever. Give Noctis his own friend to distract him so that Reina could feel as if she played the part of guide and remained the sole center of Ravus' attention, while still keeping both of them chaperoned.

Noctis stuck his tongue out at Reina. Reina stuck her tongue out at Noctis. Ravus smiled, watching the exchange as one might watch a ball match.

With the planned trip to the park—which Regis was unable to make some excuse to attend—he had no chance to make good on his promise to Crea during the day. She spent the day in Insomnia and did not return until dinner, at which point he heard scattered and enthusiastic tales of all that had come to pass since breakfast. Those adventures included not just a trip to the park, but a walk around downtown—supervised by Cor and a collection of other Crownsguards—and lunch in a _real restaurant_. Regis could not help but laugh at their enthusiasm for what most children took for granted. They were waited on, day in and day out, by the most highly trained kitchen staff in the city and they fawned over the simplicity of a diner.

After dinner, when the twins were put to bed with no further mention of Adagium—and fingers crossed in hopes of it remaining that way through the night—Crea pulled Regis aside.

"I really must know what this story is. Noctis and Ignis were prodding each other with empty threats of monsters in the shadows all day."

Regis laughed, in spite of himself. "Very well. I shall tell you the tale. Mind you, it _is_ a frightening story."

"Are you warning me because you don't want me crawling into your bed in the middle of the night with nightmares?" She asked. No sooner had the words left her lips than a flush darkened her cheeks. She covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know," Regis said. And that was half the trouble.

They settled—somewhat awkwardly at first—into Crea's sitting room. Once Regis had a mug of tea clasped between his hands and polite conversation had filled the gap between them, he allowed for a lull in their talk before beginning.

"I will preface this by saying Adagium is little more than a scary story whispered to Lucian royals in the dark of night," Regis said.

"I thought all Caelum stories were true," she teased.

"Certainly not. A king is quite as adept at fabricating stories as the next father, though it may be the case that this story was created by someone entirely outside of the royal family—a nanny, perhaps—out of exasperation for ill-behaved royal children."

"The only nanny who makes up scary stories is the one who doesn't have to deal with frightened children in the middle of the night," she said dryly. "Anyway, tell me the story."

"So bold! Have you no fear of the darkness?"

Her expression was torn between amusement and exasperation.

"You shall, when my tale is true," Regis said.

"Spoken like a true father, who expects the nanny will take care of any nightmares," Crea said.

"I shall only note that it was I, not you, whom they sought last night."

"Last night," she agreed.

"And I have never once told them a scary story. If anything, you should scold young Ignis for his lack of foresight." Regis cleared his throat. "As the tale goes: Long ago, before darkness had ever touched Eos, the land was bright and prosperous. But beneath the idyllic surface, something black lurked in the night. It lived deep in the caves beneath Lucis and, for the most part, it slept. But once in a blue moon it reached out to passersby with whispers in the night. Whispers that promised great boons in return for small favors: power, wealth, love, all at its fingertips if only you would step a little closer… what precisely it earned in return for those things, it was never said. But people returned changed from those caves.

"And so it was until a young man named Somnus came to the caves and heard the whispering in the night: 'A king you will become. Wealth and power will sit at your fingertips. The fairest women in all of Eos will flock to your doorstep, and the strongest men will bare their blades in your service. All of this you will have… if only you open this lock that binds me.

"But Somnus was a prudent man, and though the voice whispered of all the things he desired in life, he walked away without touching the chains that bound the darkness. The next night when he slept, the whispers followed. They spoke of tantalizing riches and limitless command, and all night in his dreams, Somnus was followed by chains, which wrapped around him and weighed him down. 'Free me. _Free me_ ,' echoed in his ears, until he could hear the words even during his waking hours.

"For weeks this persisted. For weeks he dreamed of chains and locks and woke as exhausted as he had gone to bed, but still he held firm, for any reward offered but not earned was no reward at all and not a path to be taken lightly.

"And then one night, the whisperings ceased. Somnus woke from their silence, but in the place of alluring offers and chanted demands of 'Free me, free me,' he heard laughter. A laughter that pierced his heart and made his blood run cold with terror. In that moment he knew; it mattered not that he had withstood against the temptations, for a lesser man had fallen to them. And such was all it took for a monster to be unleashed upon the world. The next morning the sun did not rise. The next night, creatures lurked in the shadows, snarling and gibbering. And the first daemons were seen on Eos.

"With a dreadful knowledge that this was his own doing, Somnus set out with only his sword and the good will of his ancestors, to challenge the darkness that whispered in the hearts of men. And women. Through the black of night he went and in the trees all around him, monstrous beasts swelled and shifted: some were nearly human in shape and size—people with deathly pale skin and no features, only gaping black emptiness where they should have held faces. And Somnus began to fear what trifling acts had terrible consequences on those who had aided the trapped shadow.

"On and on he rode on chocobo back. More than once he drew his sword to attempt to slay a perverted beast, but he found them unexpectedly strong and it was not the beasts that he laid eyes on that struck fear into his heart. It was the looming knowledge of something larger lurking in the woods. Something darker. With a will he pushed on until he reached the mouth of the cave where first he had met the shadow. Once it had been innocuous, but now black fog hung about it like a plague. And he summoned the creature of blackness out to meet him.

"It came. But now it took the shape of a man and seemed almost fair in comparison to what he had seen in the woods. It spoke to him, its voice free of rasp and wrought instead in honeyed words: 'I am Adagium, the darkness in the night, and I am free. For your part in my continued imprisonment, I offer no ire nor violence, but a promise. A promise to be carried out in the dead of night, that darkness plague your family line. Let no man go old to his grave.'

"Adagium leapt. And Somnus saw that he was no longer a man at all, but a monster in the guise of one. He drew his blade and plunged it deep into the chest of the snarling creature, but no drop of blood spilled from it. Darkness it was made of and darkness poured out of it—from the hole in its chest and its weeping black eyes and its snarling lips.

"It staggered, both hands clutched its breast, and with its last words, it spat a curse at Somnus' feet: 'Let the daemons hound your every effort, and those of your sons and your sons' sons until all of light has winked out from the world. And when that day comes, I will return and swallow whole the last _Caelum_.'

"And with those words so spoken, Adagium dissolved into the very black fog that hung about it like a cloak. And Adagium was no more.

"By dawn, light returned to the world and, in spite of Adagium's words, its first offer to Somnus came true: for Somnus became King Somnus Lucis Caelum, the founding king of Lucis, and he was served by many men across the land. But though his rule was in light, darkness always haunted his nights—for those people that Adagium had touched and corrupted never regained themselves. The daemons never faded from the woods. And its last curse followed King Somnus to a premature grave.

"For to this day, its words hold true. No Lucian king goes to meet his grave in ripe old age, but lives in a struggle against the dark and the daemons. And we wait to meet with the final words of his prophecy: the return of Adagium and the death of the last Caelum."

When he finished, Crea looked torn between amusement and pensiveness. He returned her smile and waited. It was a story to be digested, not rushed.

At length she did speak. "You can't convince me that you've never told that story to anyone before. No one tells a story like that without rehearsal."

Regis laughed. "I used to tell it to Clarus, then Weskham. Later we induced Cor by sharing the 'dark secret of Caelum history' over a campfire in the dead of night. In the middle of a forest near a cave, if I recall correctly. He was fifteen at the time and much too old to be scared by silly stories… but I don't believe he slept that night."

"Strange. The story seems designed to frighten young Caelums. I would expect it to have less of an impact on your friends," Crea said.

"Ah, but you are forgetting who my friends are. They may be half old men now, but at the time they were the most talented young men in Lucis, sworn to give their lives for king and kingdom. To have an invisible threat lurking in the shadows, one they could never predict nor protect me from, was a terrifying thought for a prideful young man."

"I see. Well. Now I understand why Reina and Noctis might have been unnerved by that. Though it does strike me as odd that Ignis would have such a lapse of judgement."

"Does it? It seems perfectly natural to me. Whatever else he may be, he is still a boy among friends."


	15. Before the Storm

Spring was beginning to wind into summer, which left Noctis giddy with anticipation for a long break from school. Regis hadn't the heart to tell him they had been intending to persist with summer tutoring over the months when he was not enrolled in regular school. In spite of all that, he seemed content to attend school with this new friend of his and Reina seemed content to stay behind when her sessions were often joined by Ravus and sometimes by Iris or Ignis.

With each passing day, the tension of anticipation only seemed to grow. Titan, Ramuh, Leviathan—any of them could strike at any time. It seemed blasphemy to feel thankful that Niflheim had destroyed Shiva and—if rumors were true—Ifrit as well, but any number of Astrals subtracted from the force that Bahamut sent against them seemed a blessing. They had no notion of which Astral to expect first, though Regis was inclined to agree with Clarus—that Ramuh would send storms before all else—and therefore they had little idea what to prepare for. All they could do was order food and supplies stockpiled in surplus and ensure that lines of power and communication were shorn up across Lucis.

These orders did not come without raised eyebrows.

"Are we expecting an attack?" Aldebrand asked, as he skimmed over the accounts one morning.

"We are expecting a disaster," Clarus said. And nothing more.

Let them believe they knew more than they truly did. Better yet, let them believe that Reina had Dreamed it, for then they would not take the matter before her. Even so, it was a subject of discussion in council meetings. Information disclosed to one councillor was swiftly dispersed among the remaining members. As it always had been.

"If only we knew more specifics, we could better advise a course of action," Felice said.

"Specifics are scarce," Clarus said. "A disaster, likely affecting Insomnia, will take place in an indeterminate amount of time. Perhaps multiple disasters piled one atop the other. Whether they be floods or quakes or hurricanes or tsunamis, we must do our best to prepare for the worst without knowing what it is."

An uneasy silence fell as assumptions were drawn and followed through to conclusion. If Regis and Clarus suspected something, it must have been due to Reina's Dreams. If they did not share more information, it may have been because her visions were vague, but regardless, the subject of her magic was forbidden from discussion by the council. A few uncertain eyes darted toward Hamon, daring him to speak where they would not, but he remained silent in thought.

And council went on.

Later, when the meeting was adjourned and doors were closed, Regis shared the thoughts that had been stirring in the back of his mind for months.

"Hamon is becoming a problem. One we must address before he becomes unmanageable."

"He is already unmanageable," Clarus said dryly. "I realize he was a choice of your father's, but I still cannot fathom what moved him to appoint a man such as that to the ruling council."

"I can," Regis said. "Outside, he is a dangerous man. Appointing him was my father's attempt at bringing him to heel and perhaps it succeeded for a time. But power and influence can only go so far in swaying a man's allegiance. There will come a time when he attempts to use them against us and I do not relish that confrontation. Already there is a line forming in the council and some look to Hamon to guide them in uncertainty."

"And what are we to do about that?"

"As of yet, I am uncertain," Regis said. "It remains to be seen precisely what he wants. I daresay he has no interest in overthrowing me and ruling Lucis. And yet control and knowledge are both his game. I believe he would prefer to be the puppet master, pulling strings out of view while others take both credit and consequences for his deeds. He is not unlike the imperial chancellor in that respect."

"Ardyn Izunia is precisely what Lucis needs in its ruling council," Clarus said dryly.

"Quite. And yet, where else would you place him? He cannot be expelled from Lucis, for he knows a great deal of our inner workings. To depose him would invite further conflict: he will have power whether we grant it to him or not. By making that offer we have, at least, a string to pull."

"Faint control over one such as he," Clarus said.

"Indeed. And so we must consider what else is to be done. In the meantime we continue as we have been. The preparation for whatever the Astrals may send us is our primary objective for the time being."

That evening over dinner, when Regis pulled obstinately away from his duties to see his children, he heard of youthful adventures and fresh friendships. It was, he reasoned, the only reason he retained anything resembling sanity in this position.

"…and he's so fat that I could barely even haul him up!" Noctis was grinning.

"It's rude to call people fat, Noct," Reina chided.

"Well he is! If you saw him you'd agree with me. I told him he should come to Gladio's training sessions with me. Then he wouldn't get pushed around so much."

"Maybe if _you_ went to Gladio's training sessions you wouldn't be so little." Reina stuck her tongue out.

"Hey! I do go! Usually…."

Now that Regis thought on it, Reina was catching up to Noctis in height. A strange realization, to be sure, given that she had been smaller than him all her life.

"And what did you do today, my dear?" Regis prompted.

"I did my lessons, and Ravus and I—"

"Ugh, Ravus." Noctis groaned with all the disdain that only a brother could muster.

"Shut up!" Reina glared at him briefly before turning back to Regis. "And Ravus and I went for a walk in the gardens."

"Something odd did happen, though," Crea noted from across the table. She set her fork down, looking from Reina to Regis. "We were passed by one of your councilors. I fear I don't recall his name, but after greeting us politely he addressed Reina…"

Regis' heart sank. Hamon. He moved faster than Regis had expected and no doubt he had not fallen into the assumption that Reina had Dreamed of some disaster as the other councillors had. The last time he had spoken to Reina of her Dreams, the event had ended in trouble for everyone.

"What did he say?" Regis asked, rather more sharply than he had intended.

It was Reina, rather than Crea, who responded. "He asked if I could tell him more about the storm I had Dreamed of so that he could better serve the council. But I didn't Dream about any storm, Father."

"I see," Regis said.

"Should I Dream of a storm, Father?"

"I should not like to bias your Dreams, my dear. I trust that your instincts will lead you to whichever Dreams are most important."

She considered this for a moment, a pensive look on her face. At length she said, "Sometimes I don't know what will be important until it has already passed. If I can know what to look for, then I can help better."

It was a perfectly reasonable request and he had no reasonable reason to deny it, save that he wished not to frighten her. And yet, was that not reason enough? Only a short time ago, Ignis had told a tale that had given both her and Noctis nightmares—and nightmares were nothing compared to the horrors she might experience in her Dreams. If he told her that he suspected the Astrals were coming to wreak havoc upon Lucis because Regis had misstepped, what then? If the reason he had taken those actions was for her brother's sake and for her sake, how was he to explain that to her?

"I hardly know what to look for, myself, my dear. Master Hamon was merely theorizing, for it may not be a storm at all. But we do expect something resembling a natural disaster. In any case, you need not trouble yourself overmuch." He smiled. "I am certain if it is of as great a magnitude as I expect, you shall Dream it whether you search for it or not."

She nodded, though there was discontent on her face, which he had no notion of how to fix.

"But I must emphasize once more that you should not speak on these matters to Master Hamon or anyone else on the council," Regis said.

"I won't, Father. And I didn't."

After dinner was cleared away, the evening wound down. Noctis claimed he was growing too old to need a bedtime story in the evenings, but it did not stop him from listening closely to the tales Regis told Reina. They made certain to choose ones he would enjoy now and then. Odd, as it seemed to Regis' eyes that Reina was growing up faster and yet Noctis was more insistent than ever that he was not a little boy anymore.

"You have met the intersection of two metrics of age," Crea said, when he confessed as much to her that evening in her private lounge. He shouldn't have gone, but a silent call drew him forth. He was only asking for advice about his children, after all. A plausible lie. "Reina is growing up faster. Physically. But that's only because girls reach puberty earlier than boys and there's this awkward stage of development where girls are becoming young women and boys are still very much boys. On the other hand, we have a cultural expectation that young men make a clean break from their boyhood. It simply Isn't Done for a young man to indulge in non-masculine things. Like listening to a bedtime story, or going to his father's room at night because he's afraid of the dark. Meanwhile, young women are permitted—culturally—to indulge in many of the things that young girls do."

"So Reina shall never be forced to grow up." It was the one bit of good news he had heard all day.

"Not strictly speaking, no." She fixed him with a crooked little smile over the top of her mug. "But—not to ruin your hopes and dreams—but she will likely decide to, nevertheless."

"Why?" It came out far more aghast than he had intended.

Crea's smile deepened. "Because, a few years ago, you came to me and asked me to do what was best for your children. You wanted them to grow into healthy young adults who would be capable of managing what would eventually be laid on their shoulders. And so I did. And since then, they've both been growing up all on their own, just like they're supposed to."

It seemed highly unfair that his children growing up and his children being healthy and happy were mutually exclusive.

Crea patted his knee sympathetically. "I don't mean to worry you, but I've seen hints of the teenager behind your sweet little princess."

The way she said it sounded ominous.

"Oh dear," Regis said, with resignation. "One more year and I shall be the father of teenagers."

"Of teenaged twins, no less. And on that note, I think you should stop trying to protect Reina from her Dreams." She lifted a hand to silence his objections and plowed on. "I know. She's your little girl and that will never change. But she is growing up and you need to let her. This is crucial for her. In adulthood, she will have this magic and—whatever your objections—she will use it in defense of the kingdom. That's what Caelums do, isn't it? You take everything you have and put it into Lucis?"

"No. I reserve some for my children, these days," Regis said quietly. And for her. Or he would have liked to, had she allowed him to.

He brushed that treacherous thought away and locked it up.

"You do." And she smiled. "But Lucis is not the reason I want you to let her Dream. She will have to learn responsibility. And having a goal is always a powerful driver in learning new skills. Tell her what you need her to Dream. Let her work toward it and hold her accountable for learning to see what she must see."

"She is only eleven!"

"She is nearly twelve. And whether you like it or not, she is already becoming a young woman. It's time to take her hand and guide her down that path, rather than refusing to see that she has reached it. That includes both her Dreams and her lessons."

"You mean to place her in a lady's lessons?"

"I think we should."

He liked the suggestion not at all. Nevertheless, a more reasonable part of him admitted that she knew much more about this than he did. It was, after all, why he had hired her in the first place.

"And Noctis?" Regis asked.

"Um." Crea tugged at a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun. "That's a difficult question. If he had no twin sister I would say no. He can wait a few years more as he continues to grow. But they are twins and what we require of one we should require of the other. So I suppose Noctis must also have those lessons."

"I didn't begin mine until fourteen."

"And you were an only child," Crea pointed out. "But if we put Reina in new lessons and not Noctis, what message does that send? That he is a child and she is not? They are both the same age, Regis. Biological differences aside, let us treat them as such and see what happens."

"I defer to your expertise," Regis said, although reluctantly. "And I leave these matters in your capable hands. Find what tutors you would for them."

The following morning, Regis walked past Reina and Noctis' bedroom and paused to witness the hubbub within.

"It isn't fair!" Noctis studied the doorjamb of their shared room.

Reina stood by, arms crossed over her chest, smiling smugly. In the lounge, Crea watched from her seat on the sofa half-turned so that her arms rested over the back of the couch.

"How did you catch up to me?! You've always been shorter!"

Crea caught Regis' gaze and buried her face in her arms before the laughter could break through.

""What is going on here?" Regis asked.

Noctis rounded on him. "Rei's taller than me!"

He pointed at the doorjamb. Regis approached to see a series of pencil marks on the woodwork. He opened his mouth to object to that but stopped himself. At least it was somewhere discreet. But sure enough, the marks on the inside of the door had been steadily gaining on the ones toward the outside, until they finally met and surpassed.

Regis stepped back and studied his children. He had always thought of Reina as the shorter of the pair as well, but this could not have been an overnight development. Growth simply didn't work like that—though sometimes it had seemed that way in his teenage years. A preconceived notion that Reina was, and always would be, the smaller of the pair of them had been fixed in his mind and no matter how often his eyes saw otherwise his brain must not have registered it.

"So she is," Regis said.

Reina beamed. Noctis groaned.

Regis took Reina by the shoulders and looked her over properly. "How did you grow so fast, my dear?"

"Miss Crea says it's because I'm becoming a young lady." Reina's smile never dimmed.

He turned toward Crea, as if she could stop this for him. She smiled at Reina and, when she caught the look on his face, laughed at him. In hindsight, that was much more likely. Even if she had been gifted with the ability to stop his children from ever growing up, she would have preferred to laugh at him instead.

"Appreciate it while you can, Reina," Crea said. "He'll catch up soon."

Noctis leaned against the door frame, arms crossed and lips set in an uncharacteristic pout.

Regis ruffled his hair. "Sure enough."

Crea cleared her throat pointedly. "Was there something you wanted to talk to Reina about? Specifically her Dreams?"

That was playing dirty. He could not very well step back on what he had said when she brought it out directly in front of Reina. And perhaps that was her intention.

Regis sighed. "My dear, Crea and I have spoken about your magic, and I have decided it would be best if you attempted to Dream this event we are anticipating."

Reina brightened. He had not thought it possible, given that she had been gloating over Noctis but a moment before. Nevertheless, she looked all the more excited at this prospect.

"I can give you only scant details. We expect that it will be either a storm or a quake or a tsunami, though I cannot say which. I expect that it will be uncannily powerful and cause a great deal of suffering in the kingdom. I believe it will reach Insomnia, but I have no notion whether or not that is true."

To each of his descriptions she nodded. In the set of her jaw and the firmness of her brow he saw determination. She was growing up too quickly and, Gods help him, he was only facilitating that.

"Can I try now?" She asked.

"This is rather early for bed, don't you think?" Regis asked.

She shrugged and grinned.

"No, Reina," Crea said. "Right now you need to get dressed and get ready for your lessons. We have some other changes to discuss this afternoon—for both of you."

And those were Crea's business to organize. Regis left them in her capable hands. Later in the evening, he heard of the resumes she was beginning to assemble on suitable tutors for the twins—while Noctis groaned and Reina bounced in her chair—but he had little input to add, save that he trusted her choices completely. His mind was elsewhere, occupied with what he was sending his daughter into that night. And as he tucked them both in and bid them goodnight, Reina caught his hand and reminded him of it.

"Will you help me, Father?" She asked.

"What do you need, my dear?"

"When the thing happens, come to me and say: 'this is the storm.' Even if it isn't a storm. Will you say that to me?"

"If you believe it shall help," Regis said uncertainly.

"You must promise and you must follow through, even if it seems very silly." He had never known her to be so serious.

"Very well." Regis adopted her gravity. "I swear to do as you have asked."

As he bid her goodnight, he fixed both words and resolution in his mind. The purpose for this exercise eluded him, but if she believed it was critical then he would remember. He repeated her words silently to himself as he sat at her bedside in the dark room and listened to the sound of her breath. It soon grew slow and steady as true sleep took hold. Not long after that, she shifted, almost as if stirring, but her eyes remained shut. A brush of his magic against hers told him she had reached the In-Between and the place she called the Black River. He glanced at the clock for reference.

He pulled his mind back to the words she had told him to say to her, as if doing so would help her Dream now. Perhaps they would. Perhaps her ability to see this storm was contingent upon his ability to remember those four words. He had little notion of how her magic truly worked. What mattered was that she seemed to be gaining some deeper understanding of it. So their lessons—if they could be called such—were not wasted time as he sometimes feared.

Reina's head twisted back and forth.

"Someone is playing drums on my head," she mumbled.

He could only guess at the cause for that, but it sounded unpleasant enough that he reached for her automatically. Perhaps it meant she had seen what she was searching for. Either way she had found some Dream, or a Dream had found her. And time twisted in strange ways while she lived another life. He dared not leave her for long.

"Reina." Regis grasped her magic. She was not far gone. Not yet. A tug brought an immediate reaction from her. "Come back to me, my dear."

She stirred, settling more quickly into her center than she did if he let her drift too long.

"Look at me, my dear." He brushed her hair back from her face and her eyes fluttered open. "See me."

She did. Though she glanced around the room, searching for some anchor in this time and place to bring her back to being. Her gaze settled on the clock and she pushed herself into a half upright position.

"Mm. I saw a storm, Father."

"A thunderstorm?"

"Mhm. A great black storm that made my head ache." She rubbed her eyes, as if they still pained her.

"When?"

"Um." She reached out and picked up the little mechanical wristwatch on her bedside table. "July twenty-first. It was there in the morning when I woke up."

July twenty-first. Regis exhaled slowly. It had worked; he had sent her forward searching for an event and it had worked. And all at once they had a time and an event. Ramuh would awaken on July twenty-first.


	16. The Storm Breaks

A petty part of Regis wanted not to share the date with the council. After Hamon had so pointedly prompted Reina for further information—and thus provoked her Dream in the first place—he was loath to disclose that they had learned any more. But the precise date of the coming storm—and, indeed, precisely what it would entail—were details he could not afford to keep to himself. He settled for telling Clarus and holding the information silently to themselves for a week or two before disclosing that more information was to be had. They could only hope that Hamon did not draw a connection between his actions and Reina's Dream. As if he needed more encouragement.

In the meantime, they had other matters to contend with, both near and far. Outside the walls, reports of Starscourge outbreaks were growing more and more frequent with each passing week. They had no one to turn to for a cure. Regis' magic would do little good for those afflicted and Sylva, even if he was willing to put aside their differences for the sake of his people, was locked away behind an imperial blockade.

No, there would be no aid for Lucis. As Bahamut had threatened. It was one more pressure placed upon him in an effort to end his defiance. Whatever the cost, he dared not give in. For his children's sake, for the future of Lucis, he would hold against the demands of tyranny.

He did the only thing he could do: ordered quarantine zones for the afflicted and tightened regulations on outlanders inside Insomnia. In vain hope of preventing more outbreaks, he granted their requests for more funding to erect lights along the roads and around outposts. Aldebrand complained about the cost, but their alternatives were scarce and every one was worse. In the face of harsh conditions and poor resources, Lucis would persevere. As they always had done.

Meanwhile, within the Citadel, Crea arranged for new lessons to be added on top of the old ones for both the prince and the princess. Noctis chafed at the loss of his free time—which he believed should be prevalent during summer break—but Reina accepted their new tutors on social niceties with grace and curiosity. Perhaps it was due, in part, to her determination to prove that she was mature enough to be trusted with adult things. He still had not rescinded his order that she was not to attend court or council with him. And this, perhaps, was an opportunity for her to prove herself.

Their Dreaming lessons continued—such as they were—on a regular basis. Whether the process was helpful to Reina or not, he was uncertain. But, if nothing else, it put his mind at ease. He permitted her to Dream what she would, when she would, provided that he was present, and he chose how long he left her undisturbed for. Some nights she insisted he had woken her too early, to which he simply responded that if she wished to choose her own time of waking, she would need to learn to consistently return to her body when her Dream was through.

So far she had yet to accomplish that. She still struggled to distinguish Dream from reality, and therefore there was no clear indication, in her mind, of a Dream being finished. She could not experience what she wished and then return, for she believed she was awake even while she Dreamed. It was, as of yet, a problem Regis had no solution for.

Within the Citadel, tensions grew as July drew on. Everything was in order, but they had no way of knowing if it would be enough. Only time would tell. Reina's Dream had given them what and when, but not for how long. And as, short of allowing Reina to Dream the full length of the storm, they had no way of knowing how well their preparations would hold up against Ramuh's rage, they could only hope for the best.

On the night of July twentieth, Regis woke at midnight with a buzzing in his head. He rose, searching for the source fruitlessly for an hour before he was forced to admit it was not a sound at all but a sensation.

Above the Wall, the night sky was black. No stars nor moon shone through the prismatic shield; the night was a great yawning maw stretching open above them, ready to consume Lucis. As he watched the night grow impossibly darker, the buzzing increased until he could feel it rumbling in his chest. His lungs struggled against the inaudible pounding. He shut his eyes against it, but the sensation only grew more intense.

The Fulgarian was coming.

Dawn came, but the sun struggled to break through the steely grey clouds that stretched across the sky. At first it was little more than a glow behind the veil in the east. But the storm swelled and the clouds darkened, until the lightest patches were a carbon grey while the vast majority of the sky was taken up by clouds so swollen with rain they were black as pitch.

They loomed over Insomnia in that way all morning. At breakfast the servants lit candelabras and spread them across the table to cast some light on the meal. Regis pushed his eggs back and forth across his plate, finding no will to take more than a few bites. The buzzing had become a pounding. It pressed in on him in rhythmic timing.

Reina and Noctis were a little better off and neither cleaned their plate. Each time the pounding thundered through Regis, both twins flinched or rubbed their ears.

Of the breakfast company, only Crea was unaffected.

"I feel as if everyone else knows something I don't." She looked each of them over, keen eyes taking in untouched eggs and half-eaten toast. "Is something wrong?"

"Someone is playing drums on my head," Reina mumbled, rubbing her ears. Noctis nodded.

The words struck a chord in Regis' memory. He had heard her say the same before, in precisely the same tone. For a moment he tumbled through time, disoriented by it. And then he recalled.

"Reina."

She looked up at him, fork held listlessly in one hand.

"This is the storm," he said.

She blinked at him once, twice, then seemed to put her thoughts in order above the pounding in her head.

"Mm. Mkay." She set her fork down, rubbed her eyes, and folded her hands in her lap. She shut her eyes. Through their bond he could feel her magic throb and for a moment she seemed to shine brightly. Something happened. Something he could not even begin to describe beyond a sensation of pressure released and a rush of wind, though none of those things happened in the physical world.

She opened her eyes again. "I think it worked." Then she grinned. "I know it worked! I already did it before."

"What did you do?"

"I opened the door," she said, as if he should understand what this meant. When he continued to stare at her, bemused, she added. "Um. It's hard to explain. I let… hm. I let myself in, but me from before, when I was looking, and I knew to look for when you said those words to me, and today I knew to open the door when you said those words, because that's what I told you to say so that I would know to open the door."

He tried to fit those disjointed pieces together in his mind. The result was a tangled knot of time and events that he could not begin to comprehend. "Then you have Dreamed this conversation?"

"Um. No. I don't think we talked about this last time. Things change sometimes."

"But if I said those words during your Dream, why did I not ask you what you had done?"

She merely shrugged. "I don't know, Father. You're the one who did it."

And that, he supposed, was the only answer he was likely to receive.

"It's complicated." She rubbed her temples, as if trying to grapple with concepts of time while battling the headache Ramuh had sent them was too much to handle.

Regis smiled bitterly. Had he not insisted on sharing his magic with Reina, she, at least, would be spared from this misery. Indeed, had he not insisted on sharing his magic with Reina, they would all be spared from this misery, for it was that choice, in part, that had caused the Astrals' ire. Nevertheless, he was set upon the path. The discomfort it caused him and his children would not sway him. Nor would the threat to his lands and his people.

"I followed that conversation as well as can be expected, I think," Crea said, "But am still at a loss as to the gloom settled over the table this morning."

"A power is swelling in Lucis," Regis said. "I fear we are all sensitive to it, through our magic."

"Power?" Crea set down her own fork, brow furrowed.

Regis hesitated. How much to tell her? Not even the council knew the truth of this storm. Clarus was the only person he had confided in regarding the Astrals' displeasure, and they had yet to speak this morning. Officially, she was but the nanny for his children—not the sort one shared crucial and sensitive information with. And yet, in the young woman sitting across the dining table from him, he saw something familiar.

She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. For an instant, her blonde hair was black, her brown eyes blue.

" _How will I help if you tell me nothing?"_ Aulea asked.

Regis shut his eyes and shook his head. When he looked again she was Crea, waiting patiently for his response, once more.

"Ramuh." The name was drawn from his lips against his will. "The Fulgarian is awakening."

Her eyes widened and Regis lifted a hand to head off any further questions. "It is a long story. For now we will leave it at that."

"Alright," she said, but she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, regarding him with an unfailing gaze.

He was saved from further response by a knock at the door. Clarus entered nearly before Regis had bidden him to do so.

"Is this he?" The words were out of his mouth before the door was shut behind him.

Regis rose from his untouched breakfast. "Yes."

"Then we must make the best of the time we have. Bahamut has shown his hand. Let us set our own plans in motion."

"Very well."

It wasn't as if he was going to make any more progress at the dining table. He rounded the table to give his children each a kiss on the head. Noctis winced away, but Reina hugged him around the neck and refused to let go.

"Can't you stay, Father?" She asked.

"Not today, my dear," he said regretfully. Nor could he bring her with him. Not when this was precisely what he wished to protect her from. "You shall have Noctis to keep you company."

She relinquished her hold on him, though only reluctantly.

He left with Clarus, just one more weight on his mind.

"Emergency supplies have already been shipped to outposts in preparation for this storm," Clarus said as they walked. "Repair crews are double staffed until further notice."

"Good. How far does it stretch?"

"At first report, from Insomnia to Ravatogh. All of Lucis is covered."

"But not beyond?" Regis asked.

"No word has come in yet to confirm or deny."

"Contact Weskham—I would know if Ramuh's wrath extends to Altissia."

"It will be done."

"And have all emergency personal and electric companies on alert. He will not be satisfied with mere rain, if I am any judge."

They parted ways, Regis to make his way to the throne room and Clarus to set the necessary parts in motion. No sooner had Regis come within sight of the doors than a great crash of power splintered across his mind. He stumbled a step or two, his vision taken over entirely by a great white orb. A hand grabbed his arm, steadying him at the elbow.

"Your Majesty?" Asked a familiar voice, which he could not place over the pounding in his head.

When his vision cleared he found himself staring into Ravus' face.

"I am fine." Regis pulled his arm away, straightening. "Thank you."

The audible roll of thunder came at last. A distant rumbling, which made an insufficient announcement for what Regis knew to be true.

The Fulgarian was awake.

Outside, rain began to fall. It passed from the steady patter of small drops a relentless pounding within seconds. More distant thunder followed the first crash, but these were not accompanied by the disorienting blast of power. The pressure that had been building all night had burst. Instead of a dull pounding, Regis' mind felt raw, as if the inside of his skull had been blasted open and now burned in the air.

"What is going on?" Ravus stepped in front of him.

"Nothing," Regis said.

Ravus neither stepped aside nor backed down. "Your Majesty, if you value our mutual alliance, you cannot take me for a fool. Why is the Fulgarian awake? If you give me no answer, I shall have to speculate on my own and may inadvertently tell Niflheim something you don't want them to know."

"Tell them nothing," Regis said. "This does not concern you or them."

"I must tell them something. My family will have felt the same thing I have, and if I make no mention of it, the chancellor will be suspicious."

"And if you disclose the truth, they will grow more suspicious," Regis said. "I can think of no reason why even a political guest in my halls would be privy to these matters."

"Then you would have me speculate on my own?" Ravus asked.

"I would have you tell them nothing," Regis repeated. But Ravus would not do that.

The thunder sounded again, nearer this time, and Regis winced at the burst of power against his raw nerves.

"Do what you will," he said. "There is nothing I can safely disclose."

Ravus stepped aside, wordless, and allowed Regis to pass him by. The Crownsguards at the throne room doors pulled them open as he approached, though now that he was here, he wanted little more than to turn back. The burning rawness inside him was less exhausting but no less painful than the pounding had been. How long could he sit in court and appear as if nothing was amiss?

For as long as he needed to.

He passed through the double doors and entered the throne room, where the council sat in scattered attendance. It was only a storm to them. For now.

Each drop that fell outside burned in Regis' consciousness. The thunder grew nearer to the lightning until the two were inseparable. Councillors and courtiers alike covered their ears against the crash of Ramuh's power. And then the lights went out.

The natural light that broke through from beyond the black clouds was hardly sufficient to see their hands by. Voices murmured, people shifted in their seats, but no one moved. At last a voice called out, sourceless and echoing in the hall.

"A power line has been struck on Tonitrus Street. Repair crews have been dispatched."

"In the midst of the storm? Is that not dangerous?" Felice asked.

"They do what they must," responded Aldebrand's voice from somewhere to Regis' left.

"The work is dangerous," responded the first voice, "But so it is every time. Today is no different."

An erroneous statement, which Regis did not venture to correct. As had been said: the work was dangerous. But none could be saved if none were risked. They would simply have to keep faith in their workers and hope against hope.

The radios, at least, were functional. And so, while they stewed in the dark, they had reports of similar outages across the Outlands and a race to return power. In spite of the rush, Insomnia sat in darkness for several hours, while the sky outside only seemed to darken. The lightning provided brief flashes of the throne room, with all his councillors lit in stop motion. Before the first line was repaired another had fallen, closer to the north gate. They watched a section of Insomnia go black in the distance.

With little more to do that he could not do elsewhere, Regis excused himself from court, motioning to Clarus that he could be found upstairs if there was need. The halls outside the throne room were lit sparsely with flickering candlelight. Servants in the hall held their own candles, one of which came perilously close to a serving woman's hair when she attempted to bow to him. The lift was silent and dead in its shaft, so Regis climbed fifteen flights of stairs to reach the royal levels.

He rounded the final bend and found himself blinking in a surprisingly well-lit lounge. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth. A pair of candelabras graced the coffee table and more spread down the halls, sitting on every end table to cast warm—if flickering—light through the whole of their common space.

Reina and Noctis sat on either side of Ravus on the floor behind the coffee table with maps spread out before them. Crea sat tucked in an armchair, a book in her hands, and a young man—one of the tutors—stood nearby. All looked up at the sound of Regis' feet on the stair.

"I apologize for the interruption," Regis glanced between them, uncertain of what, precisely, he had interrupted.

The tutor bowed. "Your presence is always welcome in our lessons, Your Majesty. The prince and princess are learning of geography, and as it is known we have a Prince of Tenebrae as our guest, who better to teach them of the forest kingdom?"

"Who indeed," Regis agreed.

Ravus met his gaze levelly. Perhaps it was foolish to leave him with nothing to report to Niflheim on the subject of this storm, but there was nothing that could be told.

"Are you enjoying yourselves, my dear ones?" Regis asked.

Noctis nodded. Reina beamed.

"Ravus knows everything about Tenebrae, Father," she said.

"Prince Ravus, my dear," Regis corrected. "I am pleased to hear it. You all seem untroubled by the storm."

Reina and Noctis exchanged a glance and a grin.

"It's great fun, Father," Reina said. "All the lights went out and everyone ran into each other. It was very funny."

"Someone dropped something," Noctis said.

"Crea screamed," Reina added.

"I did not." Crea had set down her book. "That was Louise and you shouldn't tease her about that tea tray—she was only startled."

And here he had expected to find them curled up and fearing the dark. Whatever discomfort they had felt for Ramuh's swelling power seemed to have left them.

Even so, Regis asked, "Then you are both feeling better since breakfast?"

Both twins bobbed their heads.

"Are you feeling better, Father?" Reina asked.

He opened his mouth to form the lie but stopped himself. Now that his mind was brought back to it, the burning rawness was difficult to ignore. It was a constant pain, unlike the pounding from before. If he managed to take his mind off of it, it faded as the buzz of conversation in a crowded room. But with his renewed awareness of it, Regis was also aware of what it cost him to put it aside.

"I would not say better, no," Regis said at last. "Different, certainly."

"Would you like my blanket?" Reina tugged at the corner, attempting to pull it away from her shoulder.

Regis smiled in spite of himself. "No, my dear. Keep your blanket. I believe I shall withdraw to my chambers and leave you to your tutors." Before he did so, however, a thought caught his mind. "Prince Ravus. Have you formed a report yet?"

"No, Your Majesty."

"You may tell them we are treating it as a natural disaster. If the throne has more knowledge than that, you are not aware of it."

That much, at least, was true.

Ravus nodded once and Regis took that as his sign. He withdrew.

His own chambers were darker than the lounge, but fires were lit in both his private lounge and his bedroom, which was just as well, for the lack of power was beginning to make the Citadel chilly, even in the late summer. He chose a seat in the quiet lounge and picked up the Kingsglaive reports he had been reading the night before in his restlessness.

Tenebrae remained much the same. The Kingsglaive who was stationed to watch over it could come and go, if necessary, but each coming and going was a risk, so she watched primarily from outside Fenestala. Magitek troops were stationed at every entrance. Any of Tenebrae's own guards had been replaced by them in a silent statement. That Niflheim controlled Fenestala was now common knowledge across Tenebrae, though what that meant for the people varied. Some lined up at the gates, still hoping to gain an audience with the Oracle, but all were turned away.

Regis must have dozed in his chair, for the next thing he recalled was light. The world outside had darkened in false night, but the Citadel, at least, was lit with power once more. From the window he could see sections of the city that had been swallowed by the night. The fight against the storm persisted. If they even managed to hold pace, it would be a small miracle.

The nap had done little for Regis' discomfort. And though it burned all the more when he dwelled on it, he persisted in running his mind across the rawness, like scratching a fresh wound. A knock sounded at his door and, when bidden, Reina entered.

The sight of her brought a smile to his face like nothing else—save Noctis—could in dark times. "Hello, my dear."

"Hello, Father. Miss Crea says to tell you we are going to have supper, and ask if you wish to join us."

Though he could not recall the last meal he had finished—dinner yesterday, perhaps—when the choice was laid before him he found no inclination to eat.

"Thank you, my dear. And you may thank Miss Crea for me. But I must turn down the invitation nevertheless."

"Are you alright, Father?"

"I will be quite alright, my dear." Provided that he survived Ramuh's onslaught.

She lingered uncertainly by his chair. He raised his eyebrows at her, prompting the question that she clung to.

"Ravus is very worried about his family." She clasped her hands together in front of her. "I thought I might try to Dream about them…?"

His first impulse was to refuse her request, but he held those words back, forcing himself to consider why she should not be allowed to Dream of Tenebrae. He had, after all, indicated that she should Dream as she wished. Provided that she Dreamed responsibly, under supervision, he could think of no logical reason to prevent her from looking forward to Sylva and Luna's well-being. Save that tonight he was in poor shape to provide that supervision.

"Not tonight, my dear." Regis offered her a weary smile. "But tomorrow, when I am prepared to watch over you, you may search for Tenebrae."

"Alright, Father."

"Good girl. Now run along. Miss Crea is waiting for you."

She withdrew and left him to his thoughts. Not long after, Clarus arrived for a debriefing on the storm and efforts against it. The ceaseless rain was beginning to cause landslides in the Outlands—particularly in Leide—and flash floods. Emergency supplies had been delivered, though some debate on where to store them had ensued. With the rising risk of flood and washout, little warehouses in the wilderness were becoming steadily less safe and sandbags would only carry them so far. A few stores of supplies had already been moved more than once throughout the day.

"If the rains continue, several outposts will be all but washed away," Clarus noted.

"And continue they shall." Regis stood at the window looking out. Even now, sections of Insomnia were unlit. Whenever one leapt back to life, another fell. It was only a matter of time before the Citadel went dark again and they had only so many repair crews to work the city. All were in service now. And what of later? When those brave men and women inevitably required a break? They could only work for so long, and the longer they remained out in this storm, the higher the chance of an unfortunate lightning strike or a fall.

"Do you have any sense of how long this will last?" Clarus asked.

Regis could but shake his head. "I can feel the Fulgarian's touch in every drop of rain and strike of lightning, but if he seeks to wear us down, the storm will persist. I fear we are in this for the long haul, my friend."

"And yet Ramuh has not seen fit to show himself."

"For which we can only be grateful. At this time, the storm is but a storm. And while it persists, the people may mutter that the Gods have turned their backs on us, but if any have cause to doubt, they will remain only that: mutterings."

For a time they fell silent, each with their own musings. Regis' eventually brought him back to the conversation.

"Did you call Wes?" He asked.

"I did. The storm does not stretch to Altissia—in fact it is not visible from the city at all. As far as we can tell, it remains entirely localized over Lucis."

"I cannot decide if that is better or worse than the alternative," Regis said.

"I fear my asking about it has woken both his curiosity and his fear. He asked if there was danger to you."

"And what did you tell him?"

"What I knew. I feel you owe him that much," Clarus said, and Regis did not miss the hint of reproach in his tone.

Regis nodded slowly. "It is true. He has been ever faithful, though our talks have grown less frequent over the years."

Would that fate could have held some other future for them.

Clarus gave him a pained smile and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm going home to my family. Eat some dinner, Regis."

Regis made no promises. He could not help but think Clarus only reminded him because he knew Wes wouldn't.


	17. Flood

He did not eat dinner that night. Indeed, it was a small miracle that he even made it to bed, for all that he dozed in his chair until it was well past a normal hour for bed. Perhaps, had Weskham still been in Insomnia, he would have come to chide Regis before two in the morning, bringing along with him a tray of dinner and a severe look. As it were, Regis dragged himself to bed after the fire had gone out and hardly recalled to pull his suit off before falling in.

In the morning he felt less tired, but the throbbing ache inside was still present. The thought of breakfast made his stomach roll, but, after Avun had made him look somewhat presentable, he went downstairs nevertheless. His family and raucous conversation awaited. If his head had still ached, it might have been intolerable. As it were, he found the will to smile amidst his children's exuberant morning revelry.

It was not to last.

The doors swung open to admit Clarus. "Flash floods are picking up in Leide. Water levels are rising dangerously close to Hammerhead."

Someday, perhaps, Regis would finish a meal. But not this morning. He rose and dropped his napkin on his plate.

"Hammerhead is upon the road. Is transportation out of the question?" Regis asked.

"I fear there is no road, any longer. Only a river."

Unsettling news indeed. There was little to do, save take his leave from his children and Crea, bidding them find what joys the dismal day could bring, and follow Clarus out the door.

"How many still in Hammerhead?" Regis asked as they walked.

"An estimation not easily made. We have no notion how many have fled to higher ground—or to Insomnia. But at last contact there were still people present."

A look was enough confirmation. Those people still left in Hammerhead included a cantankerous old mechanic, who would not have willingly left his garage until the floodwaters had risen around him. And perhaps not even then. Any team they sent would have to be willing to knock him over the head and drag him out.

"If a river has overtaken the road, then let us send boats. The slimmest we have that can still withstand these waters," Regis said.

"It will not be easy, fighting the current that comes out of the Weaverwilds."

"No. Nor will it be safe. But we must try nevertheless."

And try they did. Boats populated by rescue teams were sent north. Though their pilots struggled to find a route across muddy land and murky waters to a place deep enough to use them, they could not be permitted to turn back, lest all of Hammerhead be lost to the floodwaters.

Within the Citadel, all of the council held their breaths, waiting for news of the rescue team. But the storm would not permit them to sit idle. Reports of further disaster were as steady as the pounding of rain outside: The floods coming from the Weaverwilds had cut off the approach of more refugees, who now sat stranded in the Malacchi Hills; crops in Duscae were drowning—wallowing in root-rot and soil washed free of nutrients—and if efforts were not made while the storm persisted, Lucis would have no food even if the skies cleared; and rising waters in the city left little doubt that the Citadel grounds would soon be flooded.

The morning was a rush of concerns, but throughout all there lurked a worry in the corner of his mind for the old curmudgeon so dear to his heart. Nothing so easily washed away past differences as fear. Harsh words, already softened by time, seemed to dissolve in the face of true disaster. He never should have turned away from a friend. He never should have let that distance grow between them, unhealed.

It was solidly midday before they heard from the rescue team.

"Some three dozen people have been loaded onto the boats, Your Majesty. They have searched the buildings and found no others, and the waters are rising dangerously high in the outpost. They expect to return to the south gate within the hour, with the current on their side."

"Is one Cid Sophair with them?" Regis asked and waited while his message was relayed. In the galley, Clarus caught his gaze; the tension that had drained from the council at the announcement that the rescue team had succeeded and was on its way back still lingered in Clarus. And Regis as well. Until they knew the answer to that question, no relief could be had.

At length it came through.

"There is, Your Majesty. And he has requested a message relayed to you…?"

"Speak it," Regis said, before he could appreciate the feel of air in his lungs.

"He says…" The messenger coughed and the flush of his face could be seen from across the throne room. "He says 'Would have been damn well fine on my own, but Cindy deserves a dry spot to lay her head. Better have one of them ready for us.'"

It was odd hearing Cid's course phrasing in the clear tones of Regis' court messenger, but even that was enough confirmation of Cid's wellness that Regis found himself suppressing a smile. He dismissed the messenger without a response—the words he had for Cid should be addressed to Cid himself and no one else—and allowed himself a shred of relief that his old friend was on his way back to Insomnia. Given the choice, he would have chosen a different setting for their reunion, but it couldn't be helped. Words long left unsaid would need to be spoken. No more procrastination.

But Cindy was not a name Regis recognized. It seemed impossible that Cid had remarried, but, then again, so had it seemed impossible that Regis would ever fall in love again.

He glanced toward Clarus, searching for an answer, and received one.

"His granddaughter, Your Majesty," Clarus said.

"Granddaughter? I was not aware Midas had married."

"Not long after you parted ways, Sire," Clarus said.

A host of news that Regis had heard naught of in the last eighteen years. Too much time had been allowed to slip through his grasp.

Clarus, now standing beside the throne, leaned closer. "I suspect the situation with refugees will stir up unpleasant memories."

"It already has," Regis responded in an undertone. "That has been foremost on my mind all morning."

"Then I'll only caution you not to expect a warm reunion."

Regis looked at him and swallowed the sharp words that brewed in his mind. Clarus was right. It would not be easily swept away and this was a poor time for the discussion, in any case.

"Have rooms prepared for them in the Citadel. After they arrive I'll speak with him privately." Best that whatever confrontation was to occur, occurred out of the public eye.

"What of the quarantine? The Outlanders cannot be admitted openly to the city with the Starscourge running rampant outside."

"You know full well he doesn't have the scourge," Regis said, more sharply than he had intended. "He's touched Caelum magic. Estranged he may be, but the Starscourge won't take hold where my magic has roots."

Would that he could have extended the same prevention to all of his people. But the dozens of Kingsglaive were enough of a drain on him and the magic would not cure those already afflicted. Only prevent the disease from taking hold in a healthy man.

"You know he won't accept rooms in the capitol when you have refugees sleeping in tents in the rain," Clarus said.

"He has a granddaughter?" Regis lifted his brows.

"He does."

"He will accept the rooms."

If he was half the man Regis remembered him being, he would accept the rooms. Grudgingly, yes, and with many complaints that he did so only for her sake, but he would accept the rooms.

It took less time for the rescue party to return to Insomnia than it had to reach Hammerhead, with the currents pulling their boats swiftly toward the sea. Nevertheless, the wait was long enough that Regis found himself fighting the urge to fidget in his chair. He forced himself to remain stone-still and upright, without even the tap of his fingers on the arm of his throne to betray his impatience and growing reluctance to meet with the old mechanic. No one in their right mind looked forward to a confrontation with a former friend, and even less if that friend had been Cid Sophair. Of all his friends who stood on no ceremony for the king, Cid had always been the most willing to throw Regis' bloodline down the drain.

Yet even when news came through that the refugees from Hammerhead had arrived in the city and, furthermore, that Cid and a young woman—a description that took Regis by surprise—had been escorted to their rooms in the Citadel—Regis had no time to grant them. The longer he waited, the more Cid would take issue with it. If he sent someone in his stead to greet them, Cid would take issue with it. If he left his duties unattended for the time it took to meet with Cid, the council would take issue and—likely—Cid would find error in that as well. But the waiting was a poison in his veins, which took over his mind and prevented him from focusing on more important matters until he was forced to make a decision.

He took his leave of the court, leaving dire decisions in Clarus' hands for the time. The council was displeased, but they often were. He left them to it.

Only Avun followed him through the quiet halls toward the guest rooms prepared for Cid and his granddaughter, and only the constant roar of rain and thunder drowned out the sound of his steps echoing in the halls. When at last Regis reached the guest wing and stood before the door, the courage to knock deserted him. Instead he motioned to the Crownsguard standing guard to do so for him.

Cid's reply came with slight delay, muffled through the door. "Go away! Don't need anything else!"

In spite of everything, his words brought a smile to Regis' lips.

"Master Sophair, if I were to walk away, I would soon hear complaint at my absence," Regis called.

A pause followed. Heavy footsteps approached the door and it wrenched open from within to reveal a weather-worn man in his 60s. Eighteen years had changed both of them, and for a breath neither said a word but stood studying the other from opposite sides of the open door. Nearly twenty years of living in the Outlands had not been gentle to Cid. Though to the eyes of Regis' childhood, Cid had always been an old man, he now realized that the image fixed in his mind was not old at all. In those years, he must not have been much older then than Clarus was now. And now, even with Regis' hair turning grey more rapidly than leaves in the winter, Cid looked to him much older than he should have been.

Time was an incomprehensible thing.

Cid grunted. "You'll hear complaint at your presence. Go away. Got nothing to say to a king who only opens his doors to drag old friends inside." He turned away, scoffed. "Friends."

A second face peeked around the door to the adjacent room. If Regis had needed any more confirmation that time flowed faster when he thought not at all about it, here it was. For here stood Cindy, a young woman indeed. She couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen, and yet she wore that age more gracefully than Ravus managed. He was a young man still growing into his body. She had found hers and was at home in it.

"Hullo. Who's this, PawPaw?" Her voice was thick with an accent common of the Outlands but not often heard inside the Crown City.

Cid looked from his granddaughter to Regis, and his eyes narrowed further. Regis took his hesitation as the opportunity it was and stepped passed him into the room.

"Good afternoon." Regis extended a hand to her. "I am King Regis Lucis Caelum."

Her mouth fell open and she gaped at him for so long he thought she might leave his hand hanging without response. But she gathered up enough of herself to take his hand and shook it.

"Gosh—the king! PawPaw didn't say we'd be meeting the king! I know people probably curtsey, but I don't really know how." She made a valiant effort in any case, which earned a smile from Regis.

"I am pleased to have you as a guest in my home," Regis said. "I was once fortunate enough to be a friend of your grandfather's."

"PawPaw didn't say nothing about that, neither!"

Cid grunted and let the door swing shut. "Don't you go filling her head with nonsense."

"Had you made mention of me, I would not have to," Regis said.

"You lost that right eighteen years ago."

What little warmth had filled the room at meeting Cindy drained away in the face of Cid's ire. Regis struggled to keep hold of it, for her sake, if not his own.

Regis turned back to her. "Cindy—if I may call you Cindy?"

"That's my name, Mr King."

He suppressed a smile. Poorly. "I wonder if you would like to meet my children. They are several years younger than you, but they are always eager to make new acquaintances."

"Gosh, me, friends with the prince and princess?"

"Precisely so." Regis motioned her toward the door and, when she took a step forward, pulled it open for her. He gave the Crownsguard outside a few words of instruction and sent her off with him. When they had gone, he shut the door and turned back to Cid.

Cid stood precisely where he had been, arms folded, brow furrowed and pinched in the middle. It was long past time for a talk. All morning, words and explanations had been swirling through his head. If only he had the chance to see Cid again, he could make things right, he had promised himself. And yet, now that they stood face to face, all thoughts deserted him. What could he say? They had both been wrong and no doubt they both still believed the other was more wrong. That did not mean they need perpetuate this pointless feud.

Regis squared his shoulders clasped his hands behind his back, and strung some words together for the sake of starting somewhere. "I am pleased to see you again. I feared we may lose you to the floods."

"Not a great loss when you ain't seen me for eighteen years."

"On the contrary. The time makes it only more unbearable, for we have left a great many words unspoken between us. And I, at least, have spoken some that I regret."

"Can't turn back time, Reggie."

"No. I can but make the most of what has been given to me." Regis unclasped his hands and strode past Cid, taking in the length of the room. It was smaller than his own private lounge, but the drawing room that connected Cid and Cindy's bed chambers was richly furnished, well-maintained, and at least long enough to pace in. He stopped himself at the window. They had a grand view of Insomnia, though it was darkened and muddied in Ramuh's storm and to the north, past the walls, the sea rose and fell like an angry serpent waiting to strike. Regis sighed and turned away from the sight. That of Cid scrutinizing him was no more comforting.

"I see little point in digging over the remains of our old arguments," Regis said. "The kingdom is, and always has been, my responsibility—my highest priority. I must make choices for the good of most and often that comes at the expense of some. There are never good answers for a king. There are never correct answers. I act decisively, as I must unless I wish to risk being overcome, and handle what comes after. But the price of your friendship was never one I wished to pay."

"See you've sent out a rescue party, only to lock all them refugees up in a warehouse. Not much of an improvement to closed doors."

"It's a quarantine, Cid. And the situation has changed. I stand by the choice I made decades ago, and I stand by my late father's judgement on the matter. Yes, the Outlands are more dangerous than the Crown City and those who live beyond the Wall have a harsh life to contend with. For my part I mitigate that as I can, but we have only so many people and so many resources. To throw Insomnia's gates wide to any Outland refugees who wish to seek asylum inside the walls is still folly. Insomnia cannot support that population indefinitely. Even now she flounders under the added strain, but we offer what space we can for those seeking refugee in these dire times. But that can only be the case for refugees who do not pose a threat to the population of Insomnia. I cannot risk the spread of the Starscourge within the Wall. Bad enough that it has become so prevalent outside."

"So you'd rather give them the option when it's no better inside than outside. You know half of them won't care to come and the other half won't care to stay."

"That is the way of things," Regis said. "And the choice was made long ago. Much as I regret the rift between us, I cannot use it to heal the rift in Lucis. I know you disagree with choices that have been made. As does everyone. There is not a person in Lucis who condones every choice I have ever made."

"What about yer lapdog?"

Regis lifted an eyebrow and waited for a clarification. He could think of a few people Cid might be titling subservient, but the name didn't fit any of them.

"Clarus," Cid said at length.

"Clarus certainly does not agree with me at least half the time. On some occasions his disagreement changes my mind. On others it does not and we move on. You know full well that I openly accept criticism to my decisions, especially from those closest to me. You and Cor have ever been at the top of my list of critics."

Cid grunted. "Where is that boy, these days?"

"He's here, though I think you'll find he is a boy no longer. I have made him Marshal of my Crownsguard."

"And that old stick in the mud?"

There was only one person left that Cid might ask about. He seemed at a stretch for how to sling insults to hide his curiosity.

"Weskham has gone to Altissia to curry favor with the First Secretary on my behalf." And on his own behalf, it would seem. The weight of another friend, still absent from Insomnia, settled on Regis' heart.

Cid grunted again—his default form of assent—and crossed to the windows to stand opposite from Regis, looking out.

"Heard you got a couple o' kids."

"I do." Here they stood talking, filling in holes that had been left gaping for nearly two decades. Regis hardly dared breathe, lest Cid decide to fill them instead with his bitterness at Regis' choices.

"Sorry about Lea," Cid mumbled. "She was a good kid. Too good for you, though."

"Yes…" Regis leaned his shoulder against the wall, facing Cid but staring out the window as he did. "She had to lower her standards to accept me at all."

Cid looked up at him, meeting his gaze squarely. For the first time in nearly twenty years, it was not a scowl, but a look of empathy and shared pain on his face.

And that was that. The rift between them was not healed, but Regis had reached out and, against all his fears and expectations, Cid had reached back.


	18. Apart

Though he felt only marginally less tired that night when he finally permitted himself a pause, he had promised Reina that she might attempt to Dream about Tenebrae. And so he sat dutifully between the twins' beds and deliberately chose an awkward position, so as to keep himself awake for longer.

"I may restrict you on time tonight, my dear," he cautioned. "I dare not allow you to Dream over long and risk falling asleep myself."

He tried to make it a joke, tacking a smile on the end, but she saw through it. Whether because it was a poor joke or because she was an uncannily astute child, he could only surmise.

"I don't have to Dream tonight, Father." She rubbed her eyes and peered up at him. "If you're too tired, we can try another night."

"I suspect I shall be just as tired any other night." Unless she was prepared to wait for the end of Ramuh's storm. And what further obstacles awaited them after, only the Draconian could say. The constant grating of power on his raw nerves was exhausting, though more uncomfortable than painful. The best he could hope was that it would fade into the background noise of his life after a time.

Reina reached one hand out from under the covers and took his hand. Regis smiled, squeezing her fingers.

"I am quite alright, my dear."

With a will, she shut her eyes and began breathing slow and measured breaths. Perhaps she recalled to mind another night and another Dream. One that had included an old man, greyed with age and withered by the ring.

The Ring of the Lucii sat inert on his hand, but never quite silent. Years ago, the strands of magic that had pulled him this way and that, drawing from his strength to feed the Wall, had seemed unbearable. These days he hardly noticed the loss. It had become such a ubiquitous part of his existence. Indeed, he had fallen into the same trap that everyone else had: believing himself to be well on the way to becoming a frail old man who could hardly handle himself in a tense situation. These days he knew better. He had grown accustomed to the drain on his strength, yes, but that did not mean that strength no longer existed. A weak man could not have upheld the Wall. Someday he would set down that burden with no need to lift it again. Somehow.

Reina had fallen asleep and, from there, into the In-Between. Somewhere in those inky veils was a place she called the Black River, where she drifted from time to time peering into other lives like windows.

He counted the minutes on the clock to keep himself awake, shifting occasionally. A part of him hoped she learned nothing of Tenebrae tonight. How would he address that information to Ravus if she did? How would he keep her from doing so if he decided Ravus should not know? And what would he do, even if he knew Sylva and her daughter were in grave and unmistakable danger in Tenebrae?

It was guilt that ate at his soul and made him reluctant to know the truth. Sylva and Lunafreya _were_ in danger, and no lies he told himself would change that fact. That he should have been doing something for them was clear enough. That he could not without further endangering his own kingdom was as well. And so they sat in stalemate. The dance of power with Niflheim continued.

Thirty minutes passed without a sign from Reina. She was still near enough to call back with a pull of her magic and a squeeze of her hand, so he did so. She had not Dreamed. She confirmed as much when she woke, blinking weary half-sleep from her eyes and twisting underneath her blankets.

"There is no shame in that, my dear," Regis promised as he rose to kiss her forehead and fought to keep his own relief buried deep. "Now take some true sleep. I have no doubt you will have a busy day tomorrow with your tutors."

The nights and days that followed became a predictable pattern. The storm raged on. The washout on the pass through Leide was soon forgotten in a torrent of other troubles. Power line repair became a constant part of life for some unfortunate few, leaving companies scrambling to hire and train more help. At the end of the first week of storms, they lost their first worker to Ramuh's strike. He was not alone for long.

All across Cleigne, natural bodies of water took over more than their fair share of land: The River Wennath overflowed and flooded the surrounding region, sending hundreds from their homes in search of drier land. There was none to be found. In the north, the swamps surrounding Vesperpool swelled and were swallowed by the lake. Surrounding dry land became marsh-like instead. Callatein's Plunge spilled out and flooded the road, tearing the bridge down as it passed.

In Duscae, Alstor Slough overtook the entire lowlands and swallowed houses whole. Rivers formed where there had been none, washing away topsoil, crops, and any people foolish enough to venture out into it. Some left their homes with tents and climbed hills to escape the flooding.

Still, they fared better than Leide, which was ill-equipped to deal with such a sudden influx of water. Sandy soiled washed away down hillsides, sliding across roads, swallowing outposts whole, or falling into the sea. Only stone itself was safe from the flood, for they had little plantlife to hold the earth in place. Some still sought high ground among the rocky hills to the north. Others fled to Insomnia, and stood outside the closed gates. The quarantine was still in effect. For all they needed shelter, Regis could not very well order the dismantling of laws that kept his people safe from an epidemic. All refugees were restricted to isolated locations inside the city. When quarantine zones inside the Wall filled up and no more space was to be had, they turned people away. What else could he do?

For all their preparation, they could not entirely prevent some of the same troubles in the Crown City. Cavaugh was, at least, a rocky island and unlikely to wash away into the sea. But it was also largely flat, and when the water levels rose and the sewers overflowed, the lower portions of the city flooded. Anything at ground-level was soaked through, from office buildings to apartments to restaurants to schools.

And still the rain fell.

It was of no surprise when some semblance of the truth began to echo among the people. They muttered that the Gods had deserted them, Lucis had attracted the ire of The Fulgarian, or that Ramuh had awoken and was none too pleased about it. The crown did not engage with the rumors. To do so in any way would have been seen as too near a confirmation.

By night, Reina persisted in her attempt to Dream of Tenebrae and learn something of Sylva and Lunafreya's fate. Thus far she had yet to succeed. Each night she woke with a displeased twist to her lips and shook her head. Sometimes she would reach for her notebook, which held scribblings about Dreams, and jot something down. Other nights she simply rolled over, listless, and dropped off to true sleep.

For all their efforts, repair crews could not keep lights on everywhere in Lucis. Priority was given to hospitals over the Citadel; they spent many nights eating dinner by candlelight and many afternoons squinting through insufficient natural light in the throne room. Outside the Wall, it was worse.

The Lucian Outlands were powered by a single company, based in Lestallum. In spite of whatever foreknowledge the crown had given them prior to the storm, they could not keep abreast of every fallen power line in Lucis. And when the lights went out, the daemons came.

"There has been another attack, Your Majesty. Residents of Caem report fending off daemons through the nights. They've boarded up cracks and shelter under the lighthouse come nightfall, but last night the daemons dragged off a hunter around there."

It was a variation on the same story he had heard every morning for what seemed like weeks.

And with the daemons came the sickness. A sickness with no cure, no treatment save to lock them away and pray they had no time to spread the disease to anyone else. Some few recovered on their own. Just enough to give hope and justify denial. But the more they hid away, the greater the danger grew to healthy citizens across Lucis.

"There are also reports of more Starscourge victims near Vesperpool. People are trying to cover up or disguise symptoms. There are likely more than we know."

Kings were meant to have power. Yet no one in the history of telling tales had ever captured the futility of problems without solutions. To be powerless was resignation. To have power with no way of applying it was frustration embodied.

"Priority must be given to fixing the power lines," Clarus said. "Else we face an endless cycle."

"Outland workers claim they cannot perform adequate repairs amidst all the beasts that roam the lands."

"Then let them have hunters to kill the beasts. That is their function, is it not?"

"It may well be their purpose, but hunters have taken to fighting daemons and aiding civilians in boarding up their homes. Some of them have taken to searching for lost and missing people."

"Then they will simply have to be reassigned. Tell them—"

Regis lifted a hand to silence the brewing argument among the council gallery.

"The hunters are too few." Regis kept his voice low enough to force silence, but clear enough to carry. "The danger, however, is clear. Let the Kingsglaive be deployed. Their primary function is to provide relief to the hunters and handle daemons in the night. In this way, the hunters might focus their own efforts on the beasts."

The fewer people exposed to the daemons—and the Starscourge—the better. The Kingsglaive, at least, were protected via Regis' magic. They were also more highly trained for such foes. The hunters would do well enough against common beasts.

There was some rumbling and consideration of his words, but none could find fault with them. The order was given for Captain Ulric to gather his Glaives and prepare for deployment.

"Your Majesty." A clear voice rang out through the throne room. Ravus, standing amongst the court on the throne room floor, stepped forward. "If there is need to send a force to the Outlands, I request that I be permitted to accompany them."

His words caused a stir, not simply among the courtiers standing around him, but among the councillors in the gallery. Regis tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne. Ravus was a capable combatant. Cor could attest to that. But to send the prince of a neighboring kingdom—one they were ostensibly making peace with—into battle in defense of Lucis was poor taste all around.

Perhaps he sensed Regis' reluctance, for he added, "To see one of the Oracle's blood walking among them might spread hope to your people. I do not have the gifts that my mother boasts, but at least I can bring her reputation. And to you I offer a healer's perspective on your Outlands."

And to Niflheim he offered a first-person account of how poorly Lucis was weathering this storm.

"I would agree that a reminder of the Oracle—even if not Sylva Nox Fleuret herself—might bring an improvement of morale to the people, Your Majesty," Felice said. "I realize it is unorthodox, but I support Prince Ravus' motion to join the Kingsglaive on their expedition."

"Perhaps the prince can offer us some insight into the problem," said another, leaning forward to look down the hall toward Ravus.

One by one, other councillors voiced their approval. Regis caught Clarus gaze and Clarus gave him a single, sharp nod. Very well. They all knew as well as he that Ravus' loyalty was not entirely theirs—if at all—but perhaps the potential benefits did outweigh the costs. And if Ravus could be persuaded to give Niflheim a disproportionate view of how poorly Lucis was faring, all the better. Underestimation was a powerful tool.

"Very well," Regis said. "I grant you leave to accompany the Kingsglaive to the Outlands. While among them, you answer to Captain Ulric. Are we in agreement?"

"Perfectly, Your Majesty."

And with those words so spoken and Ravus dismissed, preparations were underway. The Kingsglaive would be ready to deploy before nightfall to face the next potential wave of daemons—if indeed one came—and Ravus, Gods help him, would stand with them. Once he left the safety of the Wall, he would have only the strength of his skill and the sharpness of his blade to keep him.

The news of Ravus leaving Insomnia was not as well received at home as it had been in the council.

"But _why_ must you go?" Reina stood, staring up at Ravus after receiving news of his impending departure.

Ravus smiled gently. He lowered to one knee before her and took both her hands in his. "Because I can be of assistance. And I cannot bear to sit about doing nothing when people are in need."

"Will you come back safely?" She asked.

"I promise," he said.

In spite of renewed motivation, Reina still could not Dream of Tenebrae that night. But neither did she Dream of Ravus, which Regis could only count as a blessing. He half feared a nightmare filled with daemons would visit her in the dark, but no such terrors troubled her, and at the end of her allotted thirty minutes, she was no more well-informed on the fates of the Nox Fleuret family than she had ever been.

The following day was more of a trial.

"Please may I attend council with you, Father?" She stood, so prim and proper, in a dress well fitting a young but growing princess, and begged for what he dared not give her.

It had been months since the day she had sat in council and inadvertently broken several years worth of secrets. And while her Dreaming, perhaps, had improved, he wasn't certain that she was at all prepared for a true place in the court.

Her next words confirmed as much.

"I promise never to Dream on my own again."

"Reina. Little princess. That is not the purpose of this punishment and I need you to understand that." He glanced unconsciously toward Crea, who gave him a tiny nod of encouragement. It was all he needed to stay his course. "I do not place these restrictions upon you so that I might control you, but rather because I wish you to learn to control yourself and until that time I fear I cannot allow you to attend court with me."

Her head drooped forward until he could no longer see her face. "I can control myself," she mumbled.

"I believe you are learning, my dear."

He laid a hand on her head. When she looked up at him there were tears in her eyes.

"Now, though I cannot bring you to court, I can promise to send a messenger with tidings as soon as I hear anything from Prince Ravus. Will that do?" He brushed away what tears escaped down her cheeks.

Reina sniffled, rubbed her nose, and nodded.

"Very good." He stooped to kiss her forehead. "Noctis, have a fine day at school. How is young Prompto doing?"

"Fine." Noctis shrugged and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders. "I guess."

And that was a wealth of information, by Noctis' standards. Regis spared him the kiss on the forehead and ruffled his hair again—much to Noctis' exasperation. Someday soon Regis would have two teenagers on his hands and have no notion of what to do with them.

He took his leave, allowing Crea to handle the rest of the morning on her own. As if she had ever needed his assistance.

The throne room was abuzz. More courtiers than usual packed the floor, though a familiar hush came over them as he entered and a bow swept through them like a wave. News of Prince Ravus' exploits had spread and attracted a crowd. He certainly knew how to win hearts and minds. Doubtless they had already dubbed him 'a brave, if foolish, fellow.' But if he returned unharmed their tune would change again. Had Ravus known that when he volunteered? The young man was clever, that much was indisputable. He must have foreseen the favor this would win him across Lucis—inside and outside the Crown City.

Or perhaps Regis was simply too entrenched in politics to think how a normal boy of eighteen would. Perhaps his motivations were purely selfless.

Perhaps.

And perhaps he was not Sylva's son at all, but some Tenebraean who vaguely looked the part.

No. Anyone who had grown up in Sylva's household could not be blind to the wider array of consequences to such a choice. He had known. Whether it had swayed him this way or that was all but immaterial.

Regis had no sooner reached his throne than Clarus was at his side. "A preliminary report came in from Captain Ulric at first light," he said in practiced tones designed not to carry in the lengthy hall. "No casualties have come of this first night. We are expecting a full debriefing once they have regrouped at the next position."

"We will adjourn to hear Ulric's report. Whatever information comes through, it is not for broadcast in a crowded throne room," Regis said, mimicking Clarus' hushed tone.

"I agree. But the crowd awaits to hear news of the Glaive and, specifically Prince Ravus. What are we to tell them?"

"That, per an early morning report, Prince Ravus is alive and well. That is all for now. In the meantime, send a runner upstairs to tell my daughter the same."

Clarus bowed and withdrew. In short order all concerns were dealt with: the council was called aside to reconvene in the private chamber behind the throne room, preliminary news of the Kingsglaive team and Prince Ravus were delivered to the assembled courtiers, and a messenger was sent to the royal quarters, as per Regis' promise to Reina.

In the council chamber, a Crownsguard set up a radio to receive Ulric's report and then withdrew. By the time the call came through, the full council had been seated in tense silence for several minutes. At least it was silence rather than chatter about matters that concerned them not at all.

" _Your Majesty? Captain Ulric reporting."_

"You report before the council, Captain Ulric," Clarus said. "Pray continue."

" _Yes, sir. We spent the night keeping daemons off refugees in upper Leide. There's a little outpost, but it's overflowing with tents. Too many people for the lights they've got set up, but it wasn't difficult to build a perimeter and keep the daemons off them. The ones that came were still pretty scattered, but enough to do damage. More than I've really seen in one place out here. I think we'll need to split our forces to cover more ground, but I'll be honest, Your Majesty—councillors—we don't have enough people to cover Lucis. I could send a few Glaives to every major outpost, and I think that would be enough to handle these attacks, but there are more people out here than that. People are talking about refugee camps that have sprung up all over Lucis. Anywhere with dry ground. Or less-wet ground."_

Indeed, over the radio they could hear the steady patter of rain on tarps.

A distant voice—not Ulric's—shouted: " _I'm gonna be wringing this shit out of my underwear for weeks!"_

" _Libertus! Shut the—"_ Ulric's voice cut off briefly. Across the council chamber, several dignified men and women stretched their mouths and endeavored to keep a straight face. The others glared at their neighbors with disapproval. " _Sorry about that, Your Majesty."_

"Captain Ulric, your priorities are to protect the people and, secondly, to see that the engineers are able to repair the power lines," Regis said. "If you believe you can do so most efficiently by splitting your forces, then I trust you to choose the most advantageous split. But consider, as you do, the position of power lines in need of repair. If it is possible to protect both civilians and the repair crews at the same time, all the better. In the meantime, the head of the hunters has been dispatched to meet with you. You are to collaborate with his people to the greatest mutual benefit. They are adept at wrangling the usual pests of the Outlands, and many are capable daemon hunters as well. I believe together your teams will be able to carve a safe path for the necessary repairs, day and night."

" _We'll do that, Your Majesty."_

"Is Prince Ravus with you?"

" _Here, Your Majesty,"_ said Ravus' voice without pause.

"Prince Ravus, have you anything to report?"

" _The situation is grim, Your Majesty,"_ Ravus said. " _Worse than I expected. I fear to say too much openly. It would be all too easy to spread panic in a precarious time. With your permission I will move with Captain Ulric's team and continue to gather information across Lucis. When we return, I will report in full."_

Nods down the table indicated that the majority of the council agreed with his wisdom.

"Very well, Prince Ravus. Make your observations. We will expect a full debriefing on your return."

The full extent of what had passed behind closed doors was kept well away from the public eye. Insomnians were concerned enough about the refugees within the Crown City who remained locked inside the quarantine zone. News of the scourge spreading beyond the wall was better kept quietly under wraps until he had something useful to tell them. Panic would avail no one.

In the meantime, they could do little but wait. And press on with life.

It was lunchtime—or as near as Regis could make it—when his personal line rang.

Clarus' eyes caught on Regis' phone. "That number is from Accordo."

Who, from Accordo, would possibly have access to his personal number?

"Weskham?" Regis suggested, reaching for the phone.

"Or something unsavory." Clarus caught his hand and took the phone from him, answering the call before Regis could object. "Speak quickly."

Though Regis could not hear the voice on the other end, Clarus' expression shifted from suspicion to pleasure in the span of a second.

"Wes, you old mutt. You should know better." Clarus grinned across the table at Regis. "Yes, he's right here. I'd refuse you the privilege after that stunt, if it weren't for the fact that he's glaring expectantly at me. Here he is."

Clarus passed the phone to Regis and leaned back in his chair.

"Weskham?" It had been nearly ten years. He hardly dared believe it, even after heading Clarus' confirmation.

" _That's my name, Sire. Though I thought you'd have forgotten it after all this time."_

"You think poorly of my memory, old friend."

" _Well, I figured you had more important things to keep in your head."_

His manner of speaking had changed. The slow, even pace that could have calmed a charging garula was still present. But his crisp, clean tones had worn into something more comfortable. Ten years was a long time. And they might have spent an equally long time filling in the blanks since last they had spoken, but no one had such a luxury anymore.

" _I'm calling because there's a great big storm cloud hanging over Lucis and it's got us all on edge. But mostly it's got me worried. Are you in danger, Regis?"_

A more difficult question to answer than Weskham knew.

"Yes and no," Regis said. "The storm is a problem for all of Lucis, though the direct threat to me is minimal. It may be a portent of something more troublesome, however."

"It is definitely a portent of something more troublesome," Clarus muttered. Regis silenced him with a motion and a glare.

" _I guess what I'm really asking is: do you need me in Lucis?"_

It was a question he should have expected. And yet it caught him unawares and left him staring at the far wall of the dining hall without seeing a thing. Did he need Weskham in Lucis? Always. The halls had been too cold and too empty for ten long years in his absence. Did he wish to admit that and tear Weskham away from everything he had built in Altissia? He had a life beyond that of the king's steward. He was in a valuable position for Lucis, politically. Trouble was brewing, yes. But when all hell broke loose, Regis would need every scrap of aid he could scrounge up. Did that mean Weskham in Altissia, pulling strings for him? Or did that mean Weskham at his side, a faithful friend who had never once failed him?

"I am not prepared to answer that question," Regis said.

" _Then pass me back to Clarus."_

"He is not prepared to answer that question, either."

" _Are you sure about that?"_

"He is not prepared because I said he is not." Regis looked sharply to Clarus, as if daring him to say otherwise. Clarus leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. Too docile for what Regis knew was underneath. "This is not a decision we can make in a moment. Give me time. When we are certain, one way or the other, I will see that you know."

" _If that's what you want."_

It wasn't. What he wanted was to have Weskham back at his side and to hell with the rest of it. But he could not afford to give up an advantage so lightly.

" _I'll look forward to catching up soon."_

The line went dead and Regis laid his phone face down on the table. He ran his hands over his face, smoothed his hair and beard flat, and straightened his crown.

"I told you. You can ask him to come back and he'll come in a heartbeat," Clarus said.

"I know. And that is what troubles me the most." He pushed his half-eaten lunch away and rose. "Come. Work waits for no man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: These chapters are getting longer...
> 
> Also me: Well, there's nothing I can do about that.


	19. Responsibility

It took weeks for repairs to be completed in the Outlands. By day, the Kingsglaive reported via radio to the Citadel, gathered their strength, and trained what hunters they could spare from repair detail. By night they stood guard around the clusters of refugees huddled in the rain—some in outposts, some not—and served as a barrier between them and the daemons.

Inside the Crown City, matters were less dire but no less busy. Somehow the storm and its effects needed to be addressed and dealt with while the normal workings of the government continued. It was one more drain on Regis' time—one he fought against when it stole away his hours with his children. The compromise he settled on was to attend what necessary court and council sessions he could without encroaching on his regular family hours, and make up for the time spent with Reina and Noctis by working well after they had gone to bed. Sleep became a thing of the past.

Though Reina's lessons cost him another hour of sleep or work, and though they seemed to benefit no one, he refused to allow that time to be swallowed by his duty. She was morose enough about losing her time in court without having him steal this time away, as well. Though she was unerringly—and sometimes unnervingly—sensitive to his moods.

"We don't have to Dream tonight, Father," she told him one evening, sitting up in her bed. "I know you're tired."

"I appreciate the thought, my dear, but I would not have that interfere with your time. This is, after all, for your benefit."

"I know. But I know you're tired and I don't want you to worry so much about my Dreams. I don't need to Dream tonight, if it's a bother."

Sometimes she was much too wise for her age. Other times she sat in council and accidentally shared secrets he had been harboring for years.

Regis smiled and smoothed her hair back from her face. "I am tired. But this is important. For us all. Come now; lay down and search for the future."

In spite of their persistence, however, she struggled to find any future pertaining to Tenebrae or Ravus. He wondered if her mind wasn't focused on the task at all, or if something else wasn't preventing it. Her Dreams were far from consistent. It was a small wonder she had managed to Dream the date of Ramuh's awakening on the first try.

And so they tried. But did not progress, so far as he could see.

With the constant rush of his schedule, he had little time to consider Weskham's offer. Though it hovered in the back of his mind during any quiet moment he stole for himself and plagued him in those brief hours he should have used for sleep, he still had no answer. By the time the Glaive returned, two weeks later, he was no closer to a response than he had been the day Weskham had called.

As per Captain Ulric's schedule, they were due to arrive early in the morning after their final nightly rounds. It was a short deployment, by all standards, but Regis was loath to leave Prince Ravus in the field for the lengths that the Glaives often endured. And with that prior knowledge of their return came the expected conflict.

"Please may I come to welcome Prince Ravus back, Father?"

It had been only a few weeks since their last discussion. And yet she had shown both responsibility and restraint during those days. On those nights when he was too tired to resist her suggestion that they cancel her lessons she had given him no reason to regret leaving him unsupervised. She did not Dream on her own, even when he could not watch over her. Further, reports from her tutors suggested she was excelling in her extra lessons, even as Noctis insistently dragged his feet.

"I am nearly twelve years old," Reina persisted. It must have seemed a considerable age to her. To Regis she was still just a child. "And how shall I prove that I can be responsible if you give me no opportunity?"

She was, however, learning a knack for persuasion. Regis glanced at Crea, who shrugged one shoulder. The choice, she seemed to say, was his and the results would—perhaps—not be world-changing either way. Save that if he said yes, Reina would be pleased and if he denied her once more he would be forced to face tears.

Persuasive indeed.

"Very well, my dear," Regis said. "I shall permit you to attend court on one condition. You must swear to me that you will speak not a word without my permission."

She was beaming so brightly she had to force the words out around her grin. "I promise!"

"Run quickly, then, and dress for court." Regis shooed her away and turned to find Crea watching him. "Time will tell."'

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Crea said.

And so it was that Regis found himself walking to court with Reina on his arm and Avun at his heel. They walked more slowly. Once, Reina might have jogged beside him to keep up with his usual sweeping pace, but today she was wearing new shoes, which clicked gently on the marble with every step. She moved in a measured and dignified fashion that he was almost certain someone had taught her in the last year.

It may not have been the most efficient mode of transportation, but it certainly attracted attention. Servants stopped to bow as they passed and then stood in the middle of the hall, staring after. The Crownsguards who were usually part of the decor turned their heads to follow Reina and Regis' progress.

He reminded himself that it wasn't so odd for them to be intrigued. It had been nearly a year since last Reina had accompanied him anywhere.

The reaction inside the throne room was less reserved. Though their fealty and respect was due first to Regis—and Reina secondly—heads came together amongst the crowded courtiers and whispers rose in their wake. The councillors did not exchange more than glances among themselves, but Hamon wore a discomforting expression on his face. Regis steeled himself for whatever trouble he would bring.

A seat was brought for Reina, placed beside his throne, and they both took their places in silence. Reina's arrival only added to the electric energy already swelling in the throne room. Anticipation for the Kingsglaive's return—and specifically for Prince Ravus' return—was tangible. All down the hall people stood, fidgeting with their clothes and glancing from the throne to the door and back again. When the door cracked open to admit a runner and a brief but hushed conversation ensued at the door, silence fell across court and council alike.

"The Kingsglaive has entered the South Gate, and are en route to the Citadel, Your Majesty."

From there, they had little to do, save wait. Reina sat as still as a statue in her chair; her back was perfectly straight, her chin lifted just so, and her hands lay across the arms of her chair without clutching or grasping. If he hadn't known the excitement that hid beneath her pristine exterior, he might have thought she was merely politely interested in the proceedings.

From the gate, it still took nearly an hour for the Kingsglaive to reach the Citadel and for Captain Ulric and Prince Ravus to arrive outside the throne room. They entered upon announcement and were greeted by warm applause from the assembled courtiers. The sound even managed to drown out the pounding of rain and rolling of thunder from outside. For a time.

The heroes of Lucis indeed. Protectors of the outlands, killers of daemons, and bearers, no doubt, of bad news.

The only change in Reina's countenance, as Ulric and Ravus came to stand at the base of the stairs, was a tiny smile that had settled across her lips. She looked older than she had any right to look. And he had only himself to blame for that.

As she had sat so patiently and properly throughout, he now motioned to her, giving a small nod when her eyes fixed on him instead of Ravus. A chance to prove herself, as she had pleaded.

Her smile deepened, but there was no childish grin, even though the expression betrayed something of her youth. She rose to her feet, first offering a curtsey and a "Thank you, Sire," to him, before turning to their audience.

"Captain Ulric. Prince Ravus. The crown welcomes you home. Insomnia welcomes you home." She gestured out over the assembled crowd, which, as if on cue, broke into applause once more. For one who was often so soft spoken, her voice carried extraordinarily well in the throne room. In spite of that, she waited for the cheering to fade before she continued. "You have endured long and weary nights beyond the Wall. Go now and rest. Words can be exchanged at a later time, when you have both recovered your strength."

Both Ulric and Ravus bowed, though Captain Ulric glanced toward Regis when he straightened. It was an unorthodox dismissal. And not one Regis had given her permission to speak. But he shifted his stoic mask firmly into place. Let none say that the princess had spoken out of turn or without the king's approval. For that, more than anything, would harm their position. As for his own disapproval, Reina would face that alone, once they were out of the public eye.

In the council gallery, Aldebrand leaned closer to his neighbor as if he would say something, then stopped. Felice shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Hamon leaned forward and studied first Reina, then Regis, as if he would see through their very skulls.

Regis gave but one motion: a minuscule nod to Ulric in indication that he should accept the dismissal as given.

"You are too gracious, Your Highness, Your Majesty." Ravus bowed once more. "I take my leave with gratitude."

He turned on his heel and strode out the way he had come. Ulric did much the same, offering a second bow with his thanks and turning to leave. Court was adjourned and the council convened quietly in the secondary chamber behind the throne. By the time Regis joined them with Reina on his arm, they were already standing in clusters, exchanging whispering conversation.

"Your Majesty." Hamon broke the scattered talk by calling attention to him. "Might I ask why we have not followed protocol and held a debriefing?"

A few opportunities presented themselves. Regis' first impulse was to step in front of Reina and invent a reason for her actions, taking the blame as his own and drawing all attention to himself. It might spare her any scrutiny from the council. But it might also leave her with the impression that she could act poorly and Regis would always be present to take responsibility. And what had he brought her here for, if not to prove she could take responsibility? Nevertheless, he could not afford to appear split from her in this.

"Reina?" Regis turned to her. "Will you explain to Master Hamon why we have chosen to delay the debriefing?"

It was cruel, he knew, but she would face the consequences for her own actions. She had not, strictly speaking, disobeyed him—she had spoken precisely when he said she might. But she had overstepped her bounds. Now she must struggle to right them.

He had expected her to drop her gaze and curl into herself. Instead she stood, precisely as stoic as she had sat, and met Hamon's gaze with a level one of her own.

"Master Hamon, public display is a powerful tool." She spoke in clear, calm tones. "And panic is our enemy. As my father often says, it is better to lose time and set your people at ease than to rush and cause them to fear. By sending Captain Ulric and Prince Ravus to rest, we have publicly expressed that the throne is at ease with the situation and there is no need to panic. We may lose some time, before the debriefing, but that time is well paid for the ease in our people's hearts."

Of everything Regis had ever fought against reacting to throughout his life, this was the most difficult. He tightened his jaw to keep his mouth from falling open. He tried to make his face appear as if this was all familiar to him. Thankfully, his councillors were staring at Reina with the same sort of stunned revelation.

"I see," Hamon said, though his eyes alone flicked toward Regis. "I bow to the crown's superior expertise."

He did, did he?

Regis caught Clarus' eye and attempted to convey that Hamon was to be watched closely for his next trick—wherever it might rear its ugly head. Clarus, however, was still looking between Regis and Reina, as if struggling to wrap his mind around what had occurred. They would have to speak privately.

As no debriefing was to occur for a time, the council adjourned—at least in part—and Regis took his leave along with Reina and Clarus. None of them spoke as they made their way through the halls to Regis' office. Even once they were within, with the doors closed behind them, Regis struggled to find words to speak.

The silence stretched to an uncomfortable length. Reina stood—now visibly nervous in the privacy of his office—waiting for judgement to be passed on her. Clarus watched them both closely, but ventured no words of his own.

Ultimately it was Reina who snapped the silence with her concerns. "I'm sorry, Father. Did I speak out of turn?"

"You did." He saw no point in denying it. "And yet I am still struggling to comprehend precisely how it played out. Sitting in court, I was fully prepared to rescind all opportunities for involvement in the kingdom and forbid your attendance until after your eighteenth birthday, so incensed was I at your presumptuous choice. I thought, rather, to cast you into the fire—so to speak—when Hamon asked why it had been done. And against all my expectations you had a reason—not simply a reason, but an entirely valid reason, which I had failed to consider, myself. By your speaking out of turn, you have somehow put us in a more favorable position than we were to begin with. Not only has it—as you have said—put hearts and minds at ease within the court, but you have displayed a strength in the royal family to the council, which they have thus far not even begun to suspect we have. Indeed, that I had not begun to suspect we had, and am even now doubting. Was this mere happenstance? Did you act impulsively and retroactively justify your choices in a way that happened to sound convincing? Or was everything premeditated?"

"I didn't plan to say it before you asked me to welcome them," she admitted, "Because I didn't know that I would be allowed to speak at all. But when I did, it felt right—because of all the things I said later, and because of everything you've told me before. Was it wrong?"

"No," Regis admitted. "No, the choice was not wrong. But I hesitate to condone your actions even so. You did act without my approval."

Was he to place more weight on her disobedience—even if not outright—or on her quick thinking and political intuition? One was to be punished and the other to be rewarded. He had no notion of which choice to make.

"I will need to consider. We will speak of this later," he said. "Until then, you are free to go."

She took her dismissal, curtseying first to him and then to Clarus before seeing herself out of the office.

Once the door was closed behind them, Regis turned to Clarus. "I know less of what to do with her with each passing day, it seems."

"And she's only twelve," Clarus said. "Just think how eventful having teenagers will be."

"She is only eleven," Regis corrected.

"Is their birthday not next week?"

It was. And yet, Regis was clinging to that number as if it would somehow make both twins less adult. If anything, today had proven it would not work.

"Well. As we have some hours yet before the debriefing, thanks to Reina, I might as well make use of them." Regis turned to follow Reina out the door.

"If you have no objections, I will make my way to Crownsguard headquarters and begin shifting my schedule up. Doubtless we shall need this time later."

"Doubtless," Regis said.

They parted ways and Regis, with Avun trailing a few steps behind him, began to make his way toward the lifts that would take him to the upper levels. Something would have to be decided regarding Reina. But he was loath to make that decision without time to think.

Before he could resolve to do more than withdraw to seek that time, the tones of a familiar voice drifted down the hall and around the corner from him.

"…impressed by your display in court today," Hamon was saying, when Regis was near enough to make out words.

"Thank you, Master Hamon." Reina's voice was polite but guarded.

Had he truly sought her and cornered her on her own, while no one was near to shield her? That snake. Regis increased his pace, making for the corner at the fastest walk he could manage while Avun struggled to keep pace.

"I had a question, if you have a moment to indulge me." Whether she indicated she did or not, Hamon pressed on. "When do you suppose this storm may come to an end?"

The floor seemed to drop from beneath Regis' feet. He was of half a mind to shout down the hall and make his presence known to prevent her from saying another word. As it were, his heart was thundering so loudly in his ears that he nearly missed Reina's reply.

"Father warned me not to Dream at your whim."

He reached the corner and stepped around. Not ten feet away, Reina stood with her hands clasped before her, looking all the smaller for Hamon towering over her.

"And with good reason, it would seem," Regis said.

Both spun about to look at him, Reina with relief on her features, Hamon with shock—though only briefly before it faded to cool neutrality.

"Master Hamon, I believe I have made my wishes clear. No one is to discuss the matter of Reina's magic, least of all with her. That you knowingly tread behind my back is alarming. That you would do so to accost an eleven year old girl is disgusting. You know I cannot allow this to stand."

Reina backed away one step from Hamon, then another until she had crept around to stand beside Regis. He laid his hand on her shoulder, shifting so she was half hidden from view.

"I act only for the good of Lucis, Your Majesty. You must see that," Hamon said.

"I cannot decide if it would be better or worse if you truly believed that. Leave us. I will deal with you later."

Hamon bowed and turned to walk away. Regis' harsh dismissal would have had anyone else fleeing for their lives, yet he put no hurry in his step. It took an uncomfortably long time before he had rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

Regis turned immediately to Reina. "Are you alright, my dear?"

"Mhm." She nodded, though one hand clung to the back of his coat, as she had done when she was small and following him uncertainly through the halls. She released it suddenly and folded her hands in front of her.

"I apologize. I ought to have anticipated he would do something foolish. It should not be the case that you can no longer walk unguarded through your own halls, but it may well be fact."

"I'm alright," she reiterated.

"I know. And I trust you not to give in to his questioning. Nevertheless…" He let the statement hang without conclusion. Nevertheless. Something would need to be done. On more than one front, it seemed. But these were not concerns for Reina. He fixed a smile on his face for her. "I shall simply walk you back upstairs."

They walked in silence for a time, accompanied only by the sound of their own footsteps and those of Avun, one pace behind.

As they neared the elevator, Reina broke the silence. "Are you going to send Master Hamon away, Father?"

"As of yet, I am uncertain what I shall do about him," Regis admitted.

"I don't think you should remove him from office."

She rarely, if ever, offered up her own opinion on what occurred in the kingdom. Then again, she had lately been kept well away from it. And it was a day for firsts.

"And why is that?" He asked.

"I don't know. I just have a feeling. He's going to do something important. Someday."

It was not, however, so unusual for her to offer up cryptic and nonspecific hints of the future.

"I see," Regis said. "I shall take your warning well into consideration."

And he could do little more than that, without further information.

They had reached the elevator and rode it to the upper levels, where a small crowd awaited them: the tutor for the twins' morning lessons had already begun with Noctis, who exuded disinterest. Crea stood to one side of the lounge, in discussion with a servant. All talk flagged to a halt as Regis stepped out of the elevator with Reina. Noctis and his tutor both scrambled to their feet to bow—though Noctis did so only after being prompted by the tutor.

"As you were," Regis said, ushering Reina forward to join them. "Crea, a moment of your time."

She excused herself from her conversation and hurried to join him in the library, where they could speak quietly on matters related to the twins. Or, more specifically, to Reina.

"Something tells me court didn't go well," Crea said, shutting the door behind them.

"Suffice it to say that court was… complicated." Regis seated himself at the chess table and motioned for her to join him. Once they were both seated he explained, as concisely as possible, what had occurred during Reina's first visit to court in nearly a year. When he had finished, they both sat in silence for a time; while he studied Crea, she absentmindedly tapped the white queen against her chin and stared out the balcony door over his shoulder.

"I think you should give her more responsibility," Crea said at last.

" _More_ responsibility?"

"Yes. She clearly craves it and that, in part, is an indication that she is ready for it. I don't suggest that you hand over to her anything incredibly important, but there must be a part to play for a young and growing princess that will teach her respect for the power her position wields without giving her overmuch of it."

It had been many years since he had been forced to give thought to the position any of his family held within the Citadel. Not since he had married Aulea. And even then, she had been confident and capable of carving her own place and taking her own responsibilities as suited her best. As for his children, he had spent the past twelve years—or very nearly—doing his best to keep them out of Citadel politics.

"I bow to your expertise," Regis said, "Though I admit to being somewhat at a loss for how to give her such responsibility. Any tasks or positions I can think of are ill suited for an eleven year old girl."

"We'll think of something," Crea said. "I'll ask Alnet."

That their etiquette instructor might be more well-versed in the goings-on of the Citadel than the king, at first glance, seemed ridiculous. The more Regis considered, however, the more sense it made. He paid attention to a great many things in Lucis, but the court was not often one of them.

"Please do," Regis said. "And keep me updated."

He rose from his seat and Crea did the same. That was one matter, at least, addressed. After a fashion.

He took his leave from Crea and his family and returned to his office, where he summoned Clarus once more to him. Doubtless he had a hundred matters to contend with during this awkwardly unplanned slice of time—thanks to Reina—but they could wait.

"Have you decided what shall be done with the princess?" Clarus asked when he entered.

"In a way, but that is not why I have called you. We have a more substantial problem on our hands."

In short order he relayed all that had occurred with Hamon after they had parted ways. A short tale, but a foreboding one. When he finished, Clarus wore an expression as darkly clouded as the sky outside.

"This is not the first time he has approached her," Clarus said.

"No. Though the last time Crea was present."

"Crea is hardly a shield. Regardless, this is a problem we must solve by removing the source. What are we to do with Hamon?"

Regis shook his head. "In other circumstances, I would suggest we remove him from office and have him closely watched—I trust him not at all with the information he holds of the inner-workings of Lucis. But Reina's council gives me pause."

Clarus gave a wry smile. "Most kings don't take council from their eleven-year-old daughters."

"And yet, her premonitions have never led me wrong. I would be a fool to do otherwise. Most kings do not have eleven-year-old daughters blessed with foresight."

Or cursed with it.

Clarus conceded the point. "What are we to do, then?"

"For now, very little, though I hate to not rise against his challenge. We will forbid him from speaking with Reina—privately or otherwise—and observe."

"That will do little. He has already been forbidden from discussing her magic."

"And yet, what more can I do? She believes he has some part yet to play in this tale, and I dare not defy that."

"Let us make it clear to him that he is watched, at least. I will put a blatant Crownsguard tail upon him. In addition, we will apply more covert measures, which he will—with any luck—not suspect."

"Very well. I leave his surveillance in your hands," Regis said.

When at last the council reconvened to hear reports from Captain Ulric and Prince Ravus, several hours had gone by. To Reina's credit, at least, both arrived looking rested for the hours reprieve she had granted them. The council, however, hummed with a nervous energy.

Captain Ulric's report contained little by way of new information. The lines had been repaired, the hunters had been trained as well as was possible in such a short time, and no civilian casualties had occurred while the Glaive stood guard. The Kingsglaive would be ready and willing to deploy again at first notice.

It was Ravus' report that they awaited with interest. When he stepped forward, the room held its breath.

"The official numbers you may be aware of," he began without further introduction. "However, I suspect that no one inside Insomnia truly understands the extent of the trouble beyond the Wall. There are people in every outpost who show signs of Starscourge corruption. Some of them are simply ignorant of its cause, believing themselves sick but not seriously so. Others are willfully in denial. They will not step into the quarantine zones without coercion, for they believe it to be little more than a death sentence. Your people place no faith in doctors, and with good reason. No one can cure this ill, save for my mother."

"Is there nothing you can do for them, Prince Ravus?" Felice asked.

"All I could offer them was hope. And my most sincere promises that I would try to bring help to them." His eyes fixed on Regis. "And so I stand before you today, to beg that you will rescue my mother and sister. Not only for my sake and their own, but for the sake of your people. This plague will continue to spread through the Outlands. Some will be spared, doubtless, but even if you strike now and lock away every Lucian who shows signs of corruption, you cannot stop the death. Tens of thousands are infected. Thousands have died already and thousands more will before the end. Unless you bring The Oracle here."

A stunned silence met his words. They had been prepared for dark news and dire warnings, for the fact that the Starscourge was more widespread than their numbers suggested. But none of them had been prepared for this earnest plea. Strike at Tenebrae. Rescue The Oracle. For the sake of all Lucis.

"Prince Ravus, I fear you speak in impossibilities," Aldebrand said. "We do not have the strength to fight Niflheim for control of Tenebrae."

"You need not take control. You only need to take my mother and sister away, and we could aid you in that. They can pass to me crucial information about the imperial force in Fenestala, and you could enter the fight knowing precisely what to expect." A boyish exuberance had come over him. While he spoke grimly of the Starscourge, it was just possible to believe he was a man grown. But at the thought of rescuing his mother and sister, that stoicism fled him, leaving behind a boy who was only freshly eighteen.

His youth discredited him.

"The situation is more complicated than you imagine, Prince Ravus," Clarus said. "Do not make the mistake of supposing we have not discussed such matters in the past. Tenebrae has ever been our ally, and we chafe to see her under imperial control. But our choices are limited."

He glanced toward Regis, perhaps hoping for some sign, but Regis had none to give. At his lack of reaction, Clarus pressed on.

"Nevertheless, your offer of information could be useful. On your advice we will reconsider the subject, though we make no promises as to the conclusion."

The light of excitement faded from Ravus' eyes. He bowed low. "I ask no more than that, Master Clarus."


	20. Celebration

Over the course of the next week, various measures were set into motion. At Clarus' suggestion, a guard was set on Master Hamon, alongside more covert surveillance on his private chambers. After a lengthy discussion with Alnet, Crea advised that Reina be properly introduced to the court to begin building a place for herself. She was granted the responsibility of maintaining the Caelum family face in court and upholding the royal family's virtue. She was also, once introduced to the courtiers, stripped of much free time, which she might otherwise have spent bemoaning her separation from Regis' meetings. She was still not permitted to attend council with him, and on the occasion when she did attend court and sit beside his throne, she was strictly forbidden from speaking.

The fatality count climbed throughout the next week, both from the storm and the Starscourge. The two almost seemed to work in conjunction. More afflicted meant fewer healthy hands available for repairs in the fight against the storm. The loss of lights caused an influx of daemons, which caused Starscourge numbers to soar. And the cycle persisted.

Inside the Wall, matters were only marginally better. Even if priority had been given to the Citadel's power—which it was not—they would have been hard pressed to keep the capitol lit all summer. But it was more important to have electricity in their hospitals storehouses, so the Citadel became increasingly lit by candlelight.

So it was that the twins' twelfth birthday dawned on a dark and stormy morning like every one before it. Regis rose in near darkness and called Avun to him. His attendant came with a branch of candles and lit the dressing room with flickering light before he set about making Regis presentable.

"Is breakfast prepared?" Regis asked as Avun took a comb to his hair.

"I believe the cooks are hard at work on the prince and princess' birthday breakfast, Sire."

Some things were right in the world, still.

"Have they risen?" Regis asked. Most mornings he was awake before them, but birthdays awoke a certain exuberance that he could no longer relate to in his children.

"They were just stirring when I passed by, Your Majesty."

And so, by the time Avun was through with him, Regis expected to find both twins racing around the lounge and down the halls. Instead he found Noctis and a handful of servants and Crownsguard standing outside the closed door to the twins' bedroom.

"Rei!" Noct called through the shut door. "Let me in!"

No response came. A sense of misgiving grew in the pit of Regis' stomach.

"What has occurred?" He asked, approaching with Avun at his heel.

"Rei locked me out," Noctis said. "She was fine when we woke up, but we were getting out of bed and she screamed and pushed me out of the room and locked the door." He rattled the handle in illustration.

Regis rapped on the door. "Reina. Come out, please, my dear."

A pause followed. The longer it stretched, the greater Regis' sense of misgiving grew. He was half of a mind to ask the Crownsguards to open the door forcibly by the time she finally responded.

"Go away!"

Regis found himself gaping at the door. Never before had she snapped at him, least of all shouted for him to leave. And yet even that shock faded in the face of growing concern.

"Are you alright? Will you not let me in?"

"I'm fine! Just leave me alone!"

"You know I cannot do that, Reina. If you will not let myself or Noctis in, may we send someone else?"

Another pause, long enough that he began to wonder if she would force his hand on the issue. He could not leave her unattended without knowing what ailed her. Surely she could see that.

"I… I want Miss Crea," Reina said, and Regis was disconcerted to note her voice quivered as with tears.

He turned to summon Crea and found her standing just a few feet away. Her door had been shut when he passed by; the shouting had evidently called her out.

"What's going on?" She asked.

"I have no notion, but please deal with it." Regis fought to keep the desperation from his voice and did, he thought, remarkably well. Nevertheless, she gave him a sympathetic smile and laid her hand on his arm as she passed him.

Crea tapped on the door. "Reina? It's me. Can I come in?"

"D…Don't let anyone else in, okay?"

"I promise," Crea said.

The lock clicked and the handle turned to open just a crack. Crea slipped inside without giving Regis a glimpse of the room beyond—or his daughter. The door shut behind her and the lock clicked once more. Whatever conversation followed was quiet and muffled by the door; Regis could not even begin to guess what they spoke of or what trouble would lead Reina to call for Crea over himself. As it stood, he had no notion whether or not he should be pleased by that. Yes, he desired for her and Noctis both to accept Crea as someone to be loved and trusted as much as they loved and trusted him. But to have anyone—even Crea—whom his children would confide in over him brought an uncomfortable squirming to his stomach.

He turned and found the knot of servants and Crownsguards still hovering.

"Back to your posts, all of you," he dismissed them and sent the lot scurrying away until only he and Noctis remained standing outside the closed door listening to quiet voices—Reina's high notes mingling with Crea's soothing murmur, though all words were lost. Eventually they must have moved away from the door, for the voices grew distant and then altogether inaudible.

Regis exchanged a hopeless glance with Noctis. It took much to resist the urge to begin pacing, but he managed. He convinced himself—and Noctis—to take a seat in the lounge while they waited, though even then, he sat on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his head drooping.

It was not as long as it felt. The clock on the wall said as much, but those few minutes seemed to stretch by like hours. Before ten had passed, the door opened and Reina appeared, ushered along by Crea with a hand on her shoulder. Regis leapt to his feet and Reina, seeing his eyes on her, flushed scarlet and looked up at Crea. Crea gave her a smile and a kiss on the forehead, whispering something Regis couldn't hear. She turned and motioned to a servant, giving some brief instructions and waving the younger girl into the twins' room.

"Is everything alright?" Regis took a tentative step forward.

"Quite alright." Crea smiled.

And yet, she was not going to utter a word of what had passed. At least not in Reina's presence, she wouldn't. Regis itched to pull her aside and demand an explanation, but he fought back the impulse and offered Reina a smile instead.

"Happy birthday, my dear." He held his hands out to her and she came, hugging him around the middle.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you, Father," she mumbled against his coat.

"I accept your apology, my dear. I would prefer if you did not shout at me, but I do understand these things happen when we are distraught." Though for what reason she had been so upset, he could only guess.

"Do you suppose breakfast is ready?" Crea asked, stepping away from the door as the servant re-emerged, carrying off a bundle of sheets.

"Near enough." Regis watched the servant leave, but held his tongue. His questions would have to wait.

And wait they did. All through breakfast, while Regis pushed his breakfast around his plate and Crea coaxed Reina out from a fresh shell of reticence. By the time the meal was finished, the pair of them were smiling and laughing together, teasing Noctis and Regis alike. Thick as thieves. And Regis made up his mind. Painful as it was to have Reina choose anyone over himself, he was grateful that she had developed such closeness with Crea. Once it had seemed Crea was doomed never to be accepted by her. Somehow that had turned to this within four years.

Following breakfast, they returned upstairs. A party of sorts was planned and Regis had put his usual schedule on hold. Lucis would survive. Though situations in the kingdom were dire, they were not any worse than they had been for the preceding week. And tomorrow the storm would still be raging, the city would still be flooding, and the refugees would still be overflowing. His presence or absence in court would change none of those things.

And so, as Reina and Noctis were brushing their teeth and combing their hair, Regis pulled Crea aside and closed the door of her rooms behind him.

"Don't you think this is indiscreet?" She asked, a smile playing at her lips.

"Crea." He brushed her teasing aside with a stony look. "What happened this morning?"

"Things that will make you look mortified while I laugh at you."

" _Crea_."

"Oh _fine_. Reina started her period. There. Are you happy?"

The words rattled about in his brain. He had been prepared for many things but that was not one of them.

She laughed at him. "See?"

"Yes, I suppose I do see." Regis cleared his throat and tried to gather up the shreds of his dignity. "Well. I suppose. Everything is… sorted out, now?"

"Yes, I think so. There was blood on her sheets and pajamas so I had the servants clear those away and lay out fresh ones, but I'd had them put a supply of pads in her bathroom several months ago, so she has those and she knows how to use them now. I've told her if she feels any discomfort to just let me know and I'll give her some medicine for it."

It occurred to him that asking questions like this often left him open to more information than he was certain he wanted. At the same time, he was Reina's father and why shouldn't he know these things? Indeed, he should have known more about them in the first place. What sort of a father allowed himself to ignore parts of his daughter's life just because they made him feel uncomfortable? He had no right to that.

"Thank you, Crea. I am glad you were here, even though it saddens me to know she chose not to confide in me."

"With good reason, probably. What would you have done if she had?"

Regis' face felt hot. He glanced aside and avoided her gaze. "Fetched you, likely."

"See?"

"But there is no reason for it to be that way." He looked resolutely back to her, fixing his face into what he hoped was a stoic, kingly expression. "I should understand enough about both my children to handle situations like this."

She gave him a peculiar look, which then broke into a grin. "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that." She patted his arm. "Don't worry. I'll tell you all about periods when we have time."

"Why do I feel you are going to make me regret this?"

She only laughed.

"Noctis should be pleased, anyway, that she's unlikely to get much taller," Crea noted.

"Truly?"

"And inch or two, maybe."

"But she is hardly a child's height."

"Then you should be pleased as well." Crea flashed him a knowing smile. "Your little girl never has to grow up."

If only it were so simple.

They returned to rejoin the others and happy chaos ensued. Crea was easily coerced into doing Reina's hair for their birthday and, while Reina was immersed in making herself appear a young lady, Noctis was fully comfortable with being a twelve-year-old boy. When Gladiolus and Ignis arrived, the same games ensued, whatever age they were. A birthday did not change much for them.

Or so Regis was able to convince himself, right up until Reina and Crea emerged from the twins' rooms. But it was a young woman's gown and hairstyle that Reina wore, and—try as he might to deny it—it was a young woman who wore them. Whatever he thought of it, nature had decreed that she was old enough.

And she looked so much like her mother.

Regis was caught by it, as she stood beaming in the doorway with Crea behind her. The same sapphire eyes and ebony hair. The same smile with a hint of the imp lurking behind it. Here was a child who, if she had so wished, could cause a lifetime of trouble for him. And he would have done nothing about it. As he had done nothing about the mischief that Aulea stirred up.

He didn't notice the tear until Reina had come to brush it away.

"Father… why are you crying?"

He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead fiercely. "You remind me so strongly of your mother, my dear."

"I'm sorry."

"No my dearest. For that, you should never be sorry. More than remind me what I have lost, you remind me what she has left behind for me." He hugged Reina against his chest and sought Noctis to do the same. Noctis came somewhat more reluctantly, but allowed himself to be pulled into a hug with his sister all the same. "Two wonderful children, whom I will protect with my life."

Outside, the thunder rolled, as if Ramuh himself proclaimed displeasure at his plans. For it was those plans, was it not, that brought this storm upon Lucis?

"With my life," Regis repeated. He kissed each twin's head and let them go.

Noctis pulled away, flattening his hair down and making general sounds of disapproval, but Reina remained in the circle of Regis' arms.

Regis smiled at Noctis. "Forgive me, my son. When you are as old as I am, you will understand that sentimental moods sometimes take hold of a man, and it is best not to fight them."

Noctis rubbed his head. "You didn't have to kiss me."

Crea laughed and Regis found himself doing the same. It was a joyful start, if not a bright one, to the celebration of their birthday. Everyone was soon assembled, and their merrymaking wrecked fair havoc on the upper levels. The number of chip bags and empty soda cans that littered the game room by that evening was simply astounding. It should have put all three boys off their dinner, but instead they all ate twice as much as anyone else.

Ravus was often caught between the two groups, not quite part of either retinue, but making space for himself where he would. After the way he told Reina how beautiful she looked—and the way Reina blushed in response—Regis found himself hoping Ravus would take himself downstairs to play video games with the boys. Instead, Ravus submitted himself to Reina and Iris' treatment. He sat and discussed dresses with them in matter-of-fact tones and even let them paint his nails whatever color they wished. Regis had to admit a grudging respect for that.

Even Cid and Cindy made an appearance, and Regis was pleased to see how easily Cindy joined Reina and Iris. For all she was of an age with Ravus, she seems as amazed as Iris at the bright colors and intricate patterns that Reina produced from the tiny bottles of nail polish. Regis had to admit a certain bemused interest of his own. Surely it was impossible to create art with blobs of paint on flat brushes with nothing larger than a fingernail for a canvas. And yet, she did.

"Miss Crea says I may grow my nails longer, this year," Reina proclaimed as she dabbed a flower onto Iris' tiny thumbnail.

And anything Reina had, Iris wanted.

"Really?" Iris' eyes went round and shiny. "Dad! I want to grow my nails long!"

Clarus, sitting beside Regis on the couch, cast him a long-suffering gaze. As if this was his fault.

It likely was.

"No, Flower. Not until you're older and you can take care of them yourself," Clarus said in the tones of a man who has answered this question a dozen times before.

Iris stuck her bottom lip out in a pout.

"Why would you want long nails?" Cindy inspected her freshly painted ones. "They'd only break the first time you had to reach your hand up in the undercarriage, and you'd never get an oil cap off with big ol' nails on your fingers. And it's hard enough keeping the grease out from underneath when they're cut short!"

A stunned sort of silence followed her words. Regis and Clarus looked at Cid, who shrugged, but otherwise looked smug. Leave it to that cantankerous old fool to look proud that his granddaughter was worried about how the length of her nails would interfere with her ability to work on cars.

"Oh, of course," Ravus said in lofty tones, holding his hands delicately in the air as his nail polish dried. "I _always_ worry about grease under my nails. It's simply intolerable."

Iris giggled, Cindy rolled her eyes, and Reina ducked her head to hide a smile.

Avun cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, there is a visitor downstairs whom I suspect you will wish to admit." An uncharacteristic and poorly-concealed smile rested on his lips. "One Weskham Armaugh?"

Regis was on his feet, though he recalled giving his body no instructions to stand. He looked from the beaming Avunculus to Clarus, who was still lounging on the sofa.

"You did this," Regis said.

"No, Weskham did," Clarus said airily. "I merely confirmed his suspicions: that you would find it helpful to have him on hand."

"I may kill you."

"Well at least let me see Wes, first."

Word was sent to the guards at the lift to admit Weskham. A few moments later, the elevator doors opened and Weskham himself stepped out into a confused and quiet lounge. All words fled from Regis' mind. For all he wished to embrace him and erase any gaps that time had caused, ten years was a great deal of time. Even now he found himself studying Weskham's face and categorizing every line. A few flecks of grey now littered his beard and the lines around his eyes had deepened in the past ten years. They were not, all things considered, substantial changes, but Wes was different. In ways words could not quite express.

If he was so changed, what must Regis have looked like in his eyes? After ten more years of struggling against the ring, his hair was solidly streaked with silver and it seemed more difficult than ever to keep his frame solidly filled out.

Whatever he looked like, it caused Weskham's eyes to wrinkle in a smile. "Come here, you old dog."

He held his arms out and enveloped Regis in a hug. Regis hugged him back just as fiercely as a missing piece of him slid securely into place. Weskham. Cid. Clarus. Everyone was here—save Cor, who had begged to be excused from birthday party duty. As they had not been in decades, they were complete.

Regis pulled away and relinquished Weskham to Clarus. Cid stood just far enough away to avoid the reunion but near enough to make certain he was part of it anyway.

"And Cid!" Weskham cried. "Clarus said you were about, but I hardly believed him."

"Not by my choice," Cid grumbled, but grudgingly accepted a hug from Weskham all the same.

"Clarus is going to have some explaining to do." Regis glared at him and received only a smile for his troubles.

"Maybe that's true, but let's not spoil the evening with bloodshed," Weskham said. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, I arrived on an important day!"

His eyes scanned the room and landed on Reina, who still sat among her friends with a bottle of nail polish and freshly painted nails. Sensing their attention on her, she hastened to her feet and curtsied. Iris, ever in her shadow, imitated her.

"Hello," she said in practiced tones. "I believe you have the advantage over me. Might I know your name?"

Weskham crossed the room to her and lowered to one knee, as if he would swear fealty to her. "Your Highness, it is an honor to meet you again after all these years. I am Weskham Armaugh, an old friend of your father's. And, I hope, a new friend of yours. Several years ago I used to live here, but you and Noctis were only children at the time."

She studied him, curious eyes sweeping his face for any sign of recognition. "I'm afraid I don't remember you. But there's a picture—" Her eyes flicked toward Regis, for some sign of confirmation. He nodded to coax her further. "On Father's bookshelf. Of you and Father and Clarus and Cor."

"Well, it doesn't much matter if you can remember so far back or not. What matters is that I'll be around again. Maybe I'll even convince your father to take care of himself, sometimes."

She smiled at that. "You'll have to fight Miss Crea for it."

At her words, Weskham's eyes were drawn to Crea, who stood a few feet apart from their gathering, observing.

"Why, Crea!" Weskham rose and went to her, taking her hands in a familiar way that made Regis' stomach burn. "You've grown even more beautiful than I recalled."

She laughed and allowed herself to be pulled into a hug. Regis folded his arms over his chest and tried to push the ugly jealous to one side. It didn't work. Not while she was laughing and beaming at the compliments he so effortlessly laid before her. Weskham would have had no restrictions on him, had he and Crea wished to marry.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he regretted it. It was an ugly thought, unworthy of him, but once it had entered it refused to leave. She would not have to become queen to marry Weskham. He would not need the approval of the council to ask for her hand. And they fit well together. Both of them were clever and insightful, somehow seeing beneath the exterior into everyone's heart and soul. Both of them were gentle, caring souls who took the position of protector before all else. If what they truly wished was to be together…

"Your Majesty, the kitchens have informed me that dinner is ready to be served."

Regis bundled his jealous thoughts away and tore his eyes away from Crea and Wes. Dinner. Of course. Though he had no appetite any longer.

"Please see to it that Prince Noctis and his friends are informed. Then send word to the kitchens," Regis instructed.

A similar greeting—part-reunion, part-meeting—occurred when Noctis joined them. He was more reserved and less proper than Reina, somewhat unnerved by suddenly having the attention of the lounge on him as Wes knelt before him. But he pulled away and back into the comfort zone of his friends not long after.

Dinner followed, and cakes after that. Once presents were exchanged, Clarus dragged Iris and Gladio away—in spite of protests—insisting that they really must be heading home. Cid and Cindy followed not long after, and Reina was left with little company, save those older than her, as Ravus had gone to join Noctis and Ignis in playing games. Much to Regis' displeasure, Weskham remained sitting near Crea and speaking in quiet tones, occasionally broken by his rolling chuckle or Crea's clear laugh. Regis tried not to watch them, though he struggled not to be aware of them, even when his eyes were elsewhere.

Whether she sensed his discomfort or was merely bereft of other company, Reina climbed into Regis' lap and she hummed quietly to herself. It took the better part of five minutes for Regis to note that she did not simply hum, she also tapped the notes and finger holds onto his arm, as if she played the violin. Her nearness brought him some comfort and provided a distraction for his melancholy thoughts. The ache of loneliness was lessened in her presence. His beautiful daughter. Aulea's last gift to him.

Struck by a thought, Regis cast about for his attendant, who stepped out of the shadows of the hall, nearly before he was summoned. "Avun, there is a box—I know not where, because I suspect Clarus intended for me never to find it—but it contains some things we packed away twelve years ago. Will you find it and bring it here?"

Avun bowed and hastened to work his magic on vague instructions from his king. Reina turned in Regis' arms to look up at him.

"What's in the box, Father?"

"You shall see, my dear."

And, true enough, when Avun managed to unearth the half-forgotten box, it was set on the floor in the lounge and Regis pushed Reina forward to open it.

She unlatched the top and peered inside. Her eyes went wide and round and she gave a little gasp of amazement, reaching inside to draw out a dress of midnight blue.

"I thought to save them some years longer, but Miss Crea insists you are nearly finished growing," Regis said. "Perhaps they could be sized for you. Your mother would have wanted you to have them."

Reina clutched the gown to her chest and stared up at him, eyes shining. "Thank you, Father!"

Regis' heart throbbed painfully at the sight of it. The last time he had seen it worn had been, of course, by Aulea. It was her dress and made custom for her. But if any was to wear it again, Reina was the only one who had rights to it.

She laid that gown aside with reverence and drew out the others, one by one. When she reached the wedding dress she laughed with glee and held it up to herself, running to admire it in the mirror. She had to drag a chair over and stand on top of it to see the full effect, and even then the hem of the dress hung several inches below her feet, but she beamed at herself in the mirror and Regis couldn't help but smile, in spite of the bittersweet memories sewn into that dress.

Reina treated each dress as if it were a precious thing, spun from glass. When she reached the bottom of the box, her brow furrowed.

"What's this, Father?" She reached inside one last time and drew out a violin case.

Regis' heart ceased to beat. A typewritten manuscript, the only one of its kind, sat on his bookshelf to remind him of the violin's owner. Regis had ordered it bound properly. Sometimes he flipped through it, letting his fingers find favorite passages as his mind wandered.

"Father?"

Whatever look was on his face, it mustn't have been good. Reina's eyebrows arched in concern.

"I am sorry, my dear—it is, as you no doubt have guessed, a violin."

Reina's fingers brushed the clasps on the outside of the case, but she didn't release them.

"Did Mother play, too?"

"No, she…" He stared at the case. That had been the year Aulea had died. Twelve years ago, now—Spero had told the truth; he never haunted Regis. But finding that violin again after so many years…

"I'll… put it back," Reina said carefully.

Spero had left it for Regis—something about how he never had gotten the chance to play it for him. It deserved to be seen, to be remembered.

"No—open it, please."

Reina halted midway through lifting the case back into the box it had come from. She blinked at him for a moment before she set it back down. With nimble fingers, she flicked the clasps open and lifted the top.

Spero's violin rested, cradled on crushed red velvet, inside. Atop the violin lay a folded piece of paper.

"A note?" Reina reached for it.

Regis made a wordless sound, sitting forward in his chair, and she stopped. That note was Spero's suicide note, stained with his blood. The last thing he wanted was for Reina to read that on her birthday. He held out his hand and she passed it to him, neither unfolding it nor trying to glean anything from the outside.

The paper was yellowed with age, by now. It crinkled in his hands when he unfolded it. The words, though spattered with dark reddish-brown stains, were still legible. His eyes flicked over the note while Reina lifted the violin tenderly from its case.

_I'm sorry about the violin_ —Regis read— _but music comes from the heart. You understand: mine is gone. I hope you'll keep it. Maybe someday, someone else will make it sing for you. Someone with a heart so big it makes you forget the hole in yours._

He looked up to find Reina testing the strings and inspecting the bow.

_Someone with a heart so big it makes you forget the hole in yours._

Regis smiled sadly. Reina and Noctis had always been his reason for carrying on. And now, twelve years later, they did make him forget the hole in his heart.

"It's a beautiful violin," Reina said.

"Would you like to keep it?"

She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows once more. "I would love to, Father!"

He smiled at her. Her whole life, she had been given every material possession she could possibly want; how was it, then, that she found such joy in a second-hand violin?

"I will give it to you on one condition—well, two conditions, but the first I take for granted—you must take good care of it—"

Reina nodded, only too eager to agree.

"—and you must play it for me."

Her eyes widened; her lips parted. For a moment she only stared at him. Was it such an outlandish request?

Eventually, she found her voice again. "Of course I will, Father!"

"Tonight?" He asked.

For the first time, she hesitated. "It… hasn't been played in a long time. It needs to be restrung and tuned and oiled."

She looked up at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"I understand," Regis said, though he did feel a twinge of disappointment. Surely, after having waited twelve years, he could wait a few days more.

Reina seemed to make up her mind; he watched the decision settle into place on her face. "I'll do it right now—I should have everything. I can do it."

Regis smiled. "Do not rush on my account, my dear."

She did, anyway. She rushed straight out of the room, leaving Spero's violin carefully laid out. Across the lounge, Crea caught his eye and smiled. That simple motion caused his heart to flip-flop as it had not in years. There she sat beside Weskham, pulled from her conversation by Regis and Reina, and smiled at him. He dared not assign significance to it.

Reina returned a few moments later with a small leather-bound kit and went to work. He watched her work, his eyes flicking between her and Spero's last note to him.

You would have liked her, Spero, he thought. She has enough heart for the both of us.

It took time. Regis let his mind wander. He shut his eyes and lost himself in memories of days long gone. Reminiscence wasn't a luxury he usually allowed himself, but just this once it seemed suitable.

Spero's violin hummed.

Regis opened his eyes; Reina knelt on the floor, knees splayed, with the violin at her chin as she dragged the bow over the strings and drew sound from it. She tested each note, making adjustments as necessary, and tested again. At long last, she looked up at him and smiled.

"All done."

Regis smiled back. He shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Make it sing for me."

He heard Reina climb to her feet and then the room was still for a few moments.

Then Spero's violin sang once more.

The music twisted around him, wrapping him up. It was mournful and magnificent; it was life and death, it was joy and sorrow. How could so many emotions possibly come from a simple piece of carved wood?

Regis was lost in it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as Reina's music washed over him. He had always known she was talented, of course, but this was something else, entirely.

He could have sat indefinitely and listened to her play, but eventually the song did come to an end.

Regis opened his eyes. Reina stood before him, holding Spero's violin by the neck in one hand and the bow in the other. She waited, watching him for a reaction.

"Beautiful," he managed.

Her face broke into a grin. She laughed and ducked her head. "I'll play another."

"Please."

She did. And another, and another—taking his praise with a pleased flush on her cheeks at every pause—until he began to fear for the state of her fingers. By then, Noctis, Ignis, and Ravus had wandered back from downstairs and sat about the lounge, joining the small audience for her impromptu recital. Regis hadn't heard them approach. So engrossed in her music had he been that even the tromping of teenaged boys had gone unnoticed.

"My dear, I would listen to you play all night—but I refuse to tax you. Besides, you have hardly let me thank you. Come and sit with me for a time."

There was a wave of scant but enthusiastic applause as she set the violin down on the coffee table. She flushed, looking around the lounge with a start as if she had just noticed that she had an audience at all. She gave them all a curtsey before folding herself into his lap, settling the skirts of her dress around them. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her underneath his chin and holding her tight. Quiet conversation resumed in the lounge.

"Who did the violin belong to, Father?" Reina asked after a moment.

Regis looked at the aged note beside the violin and was silent. How did one describe the man that Spero had been?

She didn't ask again. At length he found some words to stitch together.

"It belonged to a friend. A man, whom I met the same year your mother died. He had also lost his wife, and we found solace in an unconventional friendship."

"What happened to him?"

He smoothed his hand over her back. Would she be frightened if he told her the truth?

No. Reina wasn't that sort of child.

"He took his own life… eleven years ago to the day."

Reina said nothing. She didn't move, either.

"He could not bear to be apart from his wife. But he left me his violin, in the hopes that someday, someone should play it for me in his stead."

She did look up at him, then. "What was his name?"

"Spero Perdita."

Reina smiled—a tight, melancholy smile, too long for a twelve year old to wear. "I'll remember him when I play it. And I'll play for you whenever you like."

She was too old to be just twelve, too wise, sometimes. Regis smiled, cupping her face in his hands. "You do it justice, my dear."


	21. Unveiled

It was well past the twins' normal bedtime before the party dispersed. Weskham left with Avun to find new quarters, Ignis bowed gracefully out, hiding a yawn behind his hand, and Ravus bid a fond farewell to both Noctis and Reina before withdrawing. The twins' bedtime routine was rather in shambles, but Regis saw them tucked into bed nevertheless, foregoing Reina's lesson in Dreaming on account of how late it had grown. He promised to make it up to her on the following night. And once both of them were closed away in their room, whispering excitedly to one another rather than going to sleep, Regis was left in the empty lounge with the remnants of the party being cleared away by servants.

Crea's door was ajar and light came from beyond. Though Regis had watched Weskham leave with Avun, for a moment he imagined he could hear Weskham's voice from within. He shook away jealous imaginings and steeled himself to pass by her door without knocking. Just as he had gathered his resolve and passed by the stream of light with his head bowed, the door opened. It mattered little what he tried to do, anymore, it would see. Fate always played against him.

"Regis." She smiled at him, silhouetted in the warm light from her sitting room as she stood in the doorway.

Her hair was down, hanging in damp locks around her shoulders, and she had already changed from her daywear into more comfortable sleepwear. The loose shirt she wore was cut wide at the neck and showed more of her clavicle than Regis cared to think about. But he couldn't stop himself from doing so.

"That was quite a surprise, tonight. I take it you didn't know Weskham was coming back?" Crea asked.

Regis swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. If he had taken the long way around to his rooms, he would not have been standing in the middle of a conversation he wished desperately not to have.

"No," Regis managed. "We spoke on the phone last week, but the conclusion of our discussion was delayed. I did not suspect that Clarus might have spoken to him after that—or that they had both apparently drawn their own conclusions—until tonight."

"I thought as much. You looked like a fish when he walked in."

Regis pressed his lips tight. "Dignified."

She laughed at him. Would she have done the same to Weskham? No. He would have smoothly turned her amusement elsewhere without letting it settle on him.

"You look so indignant! I'm only teasing. I'm glad that Weskham is back and I hope he stays. I know he was always a great friend and comfort to you."

"Is that truly why you are pleased with his return?" The words slipped out before he could stop them, along with his bitterness. As they sank in and a stunned look crossed her face, he cursed himself for his lack of self control.

"Regis…" The crease on her brow was sympathy or hurt or both. He couldn't tell anymore.

They were standing alone in the hall. All the servants were in the lounge, cleaning. Avun had gone to accompany Weskham to his new rooms. The Crownsguards were farther down and around a corner in either direction. He could have kissed her and no one would have been the wiser.

Perhaps he would have, if he had still thought she would enjoy it.

"He was right, of course," Regis said. "You are beautiful. More beautiful every day, and I—"

"Don't. Please don't do this, Regis."

"Because you would prefer to hear the words from Weskham?" He did not even fight to keep the bitterness from his voice this time.

"Is that what you think? Is that _really_ what you think? That I'm some schoolgirl to have her head turned by every man who calls me beautiful?"

"Then why will you take those words from him and not from me?"

"Because from him they mean nothing! And from you they tear my heart out with impossibilities!" Tears fell from her chin and splattered on the marble floor. She dropped her voice and her tone became tight and strangled. "Because I can't hear them from you without thinking of everything I can't have."

She could have had it. Everything he had to give and more would have been hers, if only she would reach out and take them.

He bit his tongue before he could throw more hurtful words. He had already caused her tears. Was that not enough? No sane person would willingly take up the mantle of queen for the rest of their life. Yes, all she had to do was say yes. Yes to throwing away her life and everything outside of the Citadel, with no escape. Even if he died before her—which he would—she would have been trapped under a crown she had never wanted.

He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. "Forgive me."

She took the handkerchief and rubbed at her cheeks. Anything else he could have said would only make matters worse. If he had been any other man he could have professed his undying love for her and swept her off her feet, hiding his own childish jealousy behind his passion for her. But he could not touch her. And even words would only hurt her more.

"Goodnight, Crea." He turned away.

"Regis, wait."

He stopped but did not turn back around. If he looked at her he would lose all resolve.

"I know you feel constrained by your station. You wish we could have what Weskham and I share. But don't. It isn't what you want. He's like a brother to me. I've never had a brother before."

Just as he was for Regis. Some days it seemed as if it would be preferable to have that closeness with her, even if it wasn't of the variety he craved. Other days his sanity was stronger and he understood it would have been nothing short of torture.

Against his better judgement, he looked back at her. "Then I hope he can share with you the same wisdom and comfort he gives me."

She glanced down the hall in either direction, then stepped out of her doorway to pad barefoot after him. She returned his handkerchief and laid her hand on his arm. Even through his suit, her touch burned. From so close, he could smell the scent of her shampoo mingling with her soap. In a burst of painful memories, he recalled the taste of it on her skin.

"I tried loving someone else, Regis," she whispered. "We both know how that ended. For better or for worse, I can only love you. So just remember this, if you find yourself wondering whenever I speak to Weskham."

She was closer. Closer than was comfortable and yet he was entranced, unable to break away, however unwise he knew it to be. She had to stand on her toes and even then she leaned up and stretched to brush her lips over his cheek. Regis shut his eyes against the memories her touch stirred, but it did nothing to banish them from his mind. The warmth of her skin pushed through his suit until he was keenly aware of her nearness, of the press of her palm against his chest and the soft whisper of her lips on his cheek.

"I love you." She spoke for his ears only, the softest breath that could not have travelled past their dark corner of the hall.

Footsteps sounded from down the hall.

Crea leapt away from him. And all at once the warmth and comfort of her nearness was gone, swallowed up by the night. In the dim light cast by her open door he could just see the heavy flush on her cheeks.

"Anyway, there's nothing to worry about," she said in a would-be casual, though hushed, tone. "I think Reina was more surprised than anything, and so long as no one makes a big deal about it, she'll grow to understand it's just another part of growing up. Not something to hide or be ashamed of. Though it's possible she'll want her own room, eventually."

"Her… her own room?" Regis struggled to fall into the charade she had so easily slammed into place between them.

Avunculus came around the corner.

"Well yes, of course. You didn't expect her to share with Noctis forever, did you?"

"I hadn't considered." It was true enough, even as his heart thundered in his chest and his brain sliced two halves of his life apart and set one securely aside.

"Though I'm sure Noctis will soon be of an age where he would appreciate the same," she added. "I can only guess what teenage boys do in their rooms and I would honestly rather not."

In spite of himself, Regis found himself smiling. "It is, as you have noted, simply a part of growing up."

"Well, that's one part you can deal with, then. Oh, hello, Avun."

"Good evening, Miss Vinculum. Good evening, Your Majesty." Avunculus bowed to both of them. He spent so much time around Regis that it seemed to have become a default part of his greetings. "Master Weskham has been settled in his chambers."

"Good." Unconsciously, Regis lifted a hand and touched his burning cheek, where he could still feel the soft brush of Crea's lips. He caught her eye and dropped his hand. "Well, thank you for handling this all so neatly, Crea. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Regis." She smiled, a fierce secret hidden behind her innocent gaze.

He turned away before he could say anything else and ruin her quick thinking. But the feel of her lips lingered on his mind well into the night while he struggled to sleep.


	22. Demands

When he woke in the morning, it was still there. Some invisible mark she had etched on his skin with hardly a brush of her lips. She had said she wished him to remember and there was small chance he would forget. But he might go mad with remembrance. If he had merely been waiting it might have been bearable, but this suffering had no end. They would slog through it until he learned how to put it aside.

He tried, that morning. He tried by avoiding her room and pretending she was little more than another member of his household staff. She took breakfast on her own while Regis and the twins breakfasted in the dining hall. Perhaps that was the more proper way to do it, in any case. Yes, he had a habit of being called away in the midst of a meal, but Reina and Noctis were more than old enough to handle themselves if he did so.

Twelve years old. Nearly teens.

No one came to summon him during breakfast that morning, but when they emerged both Clarus and Weskham were standing outside.

"Resuming your old position so soon, my friend?" Regis asked Weskham.

"Hardly. Avunculus has done a fine job with you. I wouldn't dream of trying to muscle him out."

"I'm sure you'll find somewhere else to stick your nose," Clarus said. "Like into this business with Niflheim."

He glanced pointedly at Reina and Noctis, who stood on either side of Regis. Regis took his meaning.

"I fear I must be off, my dear ones." Regis gave the twins a reluctant smile. "Be good in school, Noctis. Keep Prompto out of trouble. Reina, behave for your tutors. No texting in the middle of lessons anymore."

Noctis folded his arms and made a wordless sound of assent while Reina bobbed her head and murmured a promise to behave. When Regis moved to give Noctis a hug, he dodged nimbly.

"Ah, but of course. Twelve is much too old for hugs." Regis ruffled his hair instead.

"I'm not too old for hugs," Reina said.

"Quite right." Regis hugged her instead.

Goodbyes exchanged, they parted ways, Reina and Noctis to return upstairs and finish readying for their day, Regis to follow Clarus and Weskham to a place more suited for discussion. They settled on his office.

Once the door was shut behind them, Regis sank into an armchair and regarded the one half of his retinue that cared to put any energy into politics.

"Tell me all," he said.

"So far there is little to tell," said Clarus. "Niflheim has merely sent a missive seeking a moment of the king's time. They are to call at a time set as convenient by you. The subject matter was not hinted at. However, I suspect it is safe to assume it is in regard to our arrangement."

"They said nothing more?" Regis leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the arm.

"That we will be speaking with the imperial chancellor."

All the more reason to suspect that this call was regarding their arrangement with Tenebrae.

"Very well. Send word that we will receive their call today—Wes, is there time in my schedule?"

"I'm sure I don't know. But I could shake Avunculus down and find out," Weskham said.

Both time and circumstances came back to Regis. Weskham hadn't been his steward in nearly ten years, and as of yet had no grasp on what was occurring in Lucis. How easily Regis had fallen back into their old ways.

"Well, bring him here, at least," Regis said. "And then make some arrangement on how to divide duties, because I would rather know sooner than later. And I would prefer you did not both hover over my shoulder at all times."

Weskham smiled. "It's safe to assume you're not going to send me back to Accordo, then."

A thought that hadn't even crossed his mind. Political ties with Accordo notwithstanding, Weskham was far more useful to Regis when he was on hand. They would still have a direct line to the First Secretary—he would simply be residing in Insomnia rather than Altissia—and Regis could have his steward back. And his friend.

But none of that accounted for what Weskham felt.

"Do you wish to go back to Accordo?" Regis asked.

"While the rest of you are out here battling the gods? Not for the life of me, Sire."

"Then I will not send you back," Regis said.

Clarus elbowed Weskham. "I told you."

And they were all sixteen again, roughhousing in the Citadel halls while shouts and laughter echoed around them.

Weskham was smiling at him. Regis found he was doing the same, though he couldn't recall when it had begun.

"I am glad to have you back, Wes," he said.

"And I'm glad to be back."

Avun was summoned and what followed was something of a scramble. Schedules were rearranged, word was sent to Tenebrae and the imperial chancellor, the council was assembled quietly, and even Ravus was brought forth to bear witness. If nothing else, this was likely a matter that concerned him. But there was some slim chance that they would catch sight of Sylva and Lunafreya. If possible, Regis wished Ravus to be present for that.

And so it was that they all came to be assembled in the conference room off the main floor a few hours later, where both television and camera were set up already. Though a select few members of Regis' council were present, only Regis, Clarus, and Ravus stood within view of the camera. The others lined the walls, out of sight, to bear witness.

The screen flickered on to show the chancellor's smiling face.

"Ah, King Regis. How lovely to see you again. And Prince Ravus, you are looking well. A bit pale, if I might say. I had thought the Lucian sun would do you some good, but alas…" Something mischievous twinkled behind his eyes. Whatever curated information Ravus may have passed him about this storm, the man had drawn deeper conclusions of his own.

"Chancellor Izunia," Regis said levelly. "You honor us with your presence."

The words hurt his teeth to say, but only seemed to make Izunia's smile grow deeper.

"How fares Tenebrae?" Regis asked.

"Wonderfully." Izunia spread his hands wide. "Just splendid. Why, after the chaos of Gralea, this quaint forest village is practically a retreat. Not a peep of conflict."

He made no mention of the Nox Fleurets and they were conspicuously absent on camera. Indeed, he had even chosen a room and frame which were clearly large enough to fit two other people. And yet he stood alone. Very much on purpose.

"And peace, of course, is why I have called you on this fine afternoon," Izunia continued, finally coming to the point of the matter. "Regarding our new friendship. We understand, of course, that Lucis is struggling through some trying times at the moment and this is a poor time for celebration. Yet imagine our surprise when we learned that no one in the kingdom seems aware of Prince Ravus and Princess Reina's betrothal! Why, we should have thought any scrap of good news would have been shared willingly… most especially given that several months have already passed."

And how would he know that no one in the kingdom had heard of their betrothal? Regis preferred not to know the answer, but it was a dangerous question to leave unanswered.

"The betrothal has not been publicly announced," Regis conceded what Izunia already knew. "Princess Reina has only just turned twelve years old, and while that is still quite young for a betrothal by Lucian standards, she is of an age to begin transitioning into adulthood. You have, however, already noted our difficulty. While good news might be welcomed in trying times, news such as this demands a certain amount of pomp and ceremony. A joining of hands in promise, witnessed by the lords will need to take place, and it is an ill omen to perform such a rite beneath this storm."

"Of _course_ ," Izunia said, in a painfully reasonable voice. "Traditions must be respected and preserved, and we would never wish to begin such a promising alliance with bad luck. Nevertheless, I must ask, King Regis: if this joining of hands is a necessary ritual, are the prince and princess _not_ betrothed by your laws?"

He had known the answer before they had begun this conversation. That much was clear in the quirk of his lips and the glint in his eyes. He asked leading questions and waited for the chance to spring his trap. And so Regis had stepped into it.

"Publicly, they are not, as you are already aware," Regis said. "More important, however, is the agreement we have made."

"And Lucis, I am certain, would never dare go back on its word," Izunia said. "But, as Niflheim _would_ , I find myself noting that this agreement has only ever been in words. If the betrothal has not been made legal and public, and we have signed no treaty putting it to words, what is to hold us both to the bargain?"

"Are you suggesting you wish to break our agreement?" Regis asked.

"Perish the thought, good king. I am merely noting that there is no security for any of us until something is made concrete. His Imperial Majesty would like to express his wishes that the betrothal be made legal, lest it fall through. Despite the rotten weather, that's not such an imposition, is it?" Izunia smiled. "We're well within our rights."

"Are you indeed? And if I were to refuse?"

"Well, that's within your rights as well. But I hardly need point out that Prince Ravus' family sent him away across the sea to be wed. Think of their _disappointment_ if it was never so. I can't be held responsible for what that sort of news would do to his poor mother and sister."

Beside Regis, Ravus' stiffened. Regis refused to spare him a glance.

"I see. As I have said, chancellor, the ill luck brought about by this weather is unavoidable. They will simply have to wait until it is through," Regis said.

"If it stretches on for much longer, they may not have the chance," said Izunia.

"Then we shall address that concern when we arrive at it. If there is nothing else, we must all be on our way."

Izunia swept off his hat in an over-elaborate bow. "But of course. Don't let me delay you. Until we meet again… King Regis."

The camera feed cut.

"You are either very cruel or very stupid and I refuse to believe the second," Ravus said as soon as he was free to. "You have practically sent my mother and sister to their deaths on a whim. You have agreed to host me here. Is it so impossible to continue with the charade and throw a party? Their _lives_ are in danger. You don't know what that man is capable of. I do."

Clarus stepped forward and in front of Regis. "You will hold your tongue in the presence of the king if you cannot recall how to address him properly. Do not forget that you are a guest and a refugee in these halls."

"Am I? It seems I am more a prisoner and a spy. I would much prefer to be back in Tenebrae with my mother and sister, since it seems I have no hope of protecting them from here."

"Nor have you any hope of protecting them from there," Clarus said.

"Enough." Regis didn't raise his voice, but the brewing unrest died away when he spoke. "Prince Ravus, I appreciate the strain you are under. But do not leap so quickly to conclusions when you do not understand the full situation. There is a great deal we need to discuss. I do not take the safety of your family lightly. But nor do I take that of my kingdom lightly. Every suggestion the chancellor makes is double edged, and we would be fools indeed to leap upon one without inspecting it thoroughly."

"And while you do, my mother and sister suffer! What will it take to make you see that?"

Clarus snarled at him, held in check from biting the boy's head off only by Regis' lack of indication that he should do so.

"I do see that," Regis said. "And I also begin to wonder to what lengths you have gone in your fear for their well-being. How did the imperial chancellor learn that no betrothal had taken place in Lucis? Niflheim may well have other eyes and ears in my kingdom, though I trust those in the Citadel have been flushed out. Yet often the simplest solution is the correct one."

To his credit, Ravus did not flinch at the accusation. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Unlikely, but not worth pressing for the moment.

"We will deliberate," Regis said. "Guest or spy, wherever your allegiances lay, your concerns will be taken into account. But your presence is not necessary for this discussion."

Ravus snarled at him. "If they die, their blood is on your hands. And I will never forgive you for it."

He turned on his heel and stalked from the room. On those dramatic words, the door slammed shut behind him, echoing his sentiment. Perhaps they had seemed dangerous, threatening words to him, but he had never sounded so much like a boy to Regis. It did not make his position less respectable. Indeed, the reminder that he was still young and afraid for his mother and sister was a grounding one. And the suggestion that withholding forgiveness would be enough to sway Regis' decision was a flattering one. Some six months he had been in Lucis. He had become a part of the family in some ways. To know that he felt the same was gratifying, even if it was strained at the moment.

"Clarus."

Clarus straightened and turned.

"Contact Cor. I want his most discreet Crownsguard following Ravus. Every second of every day should be accounted for from this point forward," Regis said. "The rest of you will meet me in the council chamber."

And so deliberation began. The same points were raised as they had been before: a frontal attack on Tenebrae to rescue Sylva and Lunafreya was possible but risky, as sources indicated the imperial forces around Fenestala were far from impenetrable; doing nothing at all was less dangerous but equally risky and no one at the table favored such passive response; and simply complying with Niflheim's wishes seemed both the simplest solution and the one with the least risk involved. Those who opposed the betrothal did so on principle, for few councilors were willing to follow Niflheim's instructions.

Regis sat at the head of the table and absorbed the discussion. His opposition for the betrothal went unspoken; he loathed drawing his children into this mess and—despite Ravus' suggestion that it would be for mere show—once the betrothal was legal and public there would be great difficulties in reversing it if ever Reina wished to. She would be more or less constrained to do as had been decided for her.

"Surely Princess Reina is willing to do her duty to Lucis," Felice said, as if the council had followed Regis' thoughts to their meandering conclusion. "And that she likes Prince Ravus is plain enough. She has shown herself to be a mature young woman; it is not such a stretch to formalize their betrothal."

To have the phrase 'young woman' applied to Reina chafed him. But that was precisely the face she had displayed in front of court and council some few days ago. And she had reached the transitioning phase of her life. There was no going around that.

"She's still a child." Aldebrand waved a dismissive hand. "If she is betrothed a great deal more will be heaped upon her. You're asking us to trust a twelve-year-old with the future of Lucis."

"She seemed hardly a child when she spoke in court."

"Speaking words fed to her by King Regis does not an adult make," Aldebrand said.

"I don't believe His Majesty did feed her those words," Hamon said lightly.

All eyes turned toward him, then toward Regis. Waiting. He had a split second to decide: confirm or deny. To claim he had told her what to say protected her from scrutiny and also made her appear more a child in their eyes. Admitting that he had not would earn her the beginnings of respect in his council, which she may find precious in years to come. It would also display that Reina was more independent from him than anyone thus far believed. On the one hand, they might see him as a lesser father for it. But on the other, an independent child was less pliable and more likely to hold her own against council pressures. All of this passed through his mind in an instant.

There was no right answer. The only choice was to make a decision and stand by it for all he was worth. It was easier to stand by the truth than a lie.

"I did not," Regis said. "Princess Reina formed both idea and words of her own volition."

Of all those assembled, Clarus looked the most shocked. Not at the revelation—he had known the truth as well as Regis had—but that Regis had admitted it.

"See?" Felice broke the silence. "She is quite old enough to handle this situation."

"One occurence is hardly a rule," Aldebrand said. "If we are to base this decision on the disposition of the princess, let us have expert advice. I move to summon the nanny."

Regis' mind refused to process what he had heard.

The councillors exchanged looks and murmurs.

"I second the motion," another said.

"I third."

All around were murmurs of assent and agreement. Not only had Aldebrand, of all people, asked to summon _Crea_ to a council meeting, he had called her an expert. While Regis agreed, having his own sentiments echoed among the council was such a rare occurrence he could hardly believe his own ears.

The second thought that passed through his mind, once the first had settled, was that Crea had never before been placed under such pressure and scrutiny. He prayed she would hold. Because he could not very well refuse to grant their request.

A runner was sent to collect Crea. In the meantime, the discussion persisted in its usual cyclical fashion. Each time they came back to this point: did they compromise their pride or their people? Was Princess Reina ready to have the fate of two kingdoms placed on her shoulders? Neither question had a simple answer.

Twenty minutes passed before a knock rang out through the room. The door cracked open.

"Miss Creare Vinculum, Your Majesty," said Avun.

At Regis' motion, he stepped aside to admit Crea. From beyond the door he could see the flicker of uncertainty on her face. She was dressed well, as she usually did when she expected to be seen about the Citadel. She might have passed for a courtier. But she held her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes flicked over the massive doors and past the faces assembled along the table in a way that betrayed her unfamiliarity with the situation. Her gaze landed on Regis. He gave her a tiny nod—he could spare no more in this situation—and even that felt like an admission of all that existed between them. Of all that had occurred the night before.

Whether she read in his motion all that he intended to convey, she seemed to take strength from it. She lifted her chin and her features turned steely with resolve. She stepped into the council chamber. The doors shut behind her, a sound which echoed in the stone chamber. She flinched but did not turn back.

"Miss Vinculum," Clarus began, "You have been called before this council to serve as an expert on the Princess Reina. Do you feel equal to the task?"

She looked from Clarus to Regis to the other councillors assembled at the table. All eyes were focused on her and, whether she knew it or not, every one of them was aware that she and he had once been involved. Whether any suspected that the feeling lingered, he had no notion. But it felt as if his guilt were written on his face.

She clasped her hands more tightly together until her knuckles turned white. "I can only claim to be an expert on growth and development. Reina I understand as well as any person can understand another. But I'm sure you can appreciate that it will never be one hundred percent."

To Regis' surprise, her voice held surprisingly true. In spite of the nervousness in her body language, she spoke well before the council. All along the table there were nods and murmurs of approval for her disclaimer. Clarus continued.

"The question of whether or not to push forward with the betrothal between Prince Ravus and Princess Reina has arisen. We seek your advice on the matter."

It occurred to Regis, in the puzzled silence that followed, that they had never admitted to the council that the idea to fake a betrothal had been Crea's, let alone that she knew about the situation at all. Clarus' brief explanation must have seemed insufficient to them.

"Why?" She asked. "I thought it was decided not to go through with it."

"Circumstances have changed," Clarus said. "Would you say that Princess Reina would be capable of handling a betrothal to Prince Ravus."

Crea made a face: her mouth twisted up to one side and her nose scrunched as if she regarded a particularly distasteful plate of food. She unclasped her hands and crossed her arms over her chest.

"That's a loaded question, Master Clarus, and I'm not willing to answer it until I know your intent." And as quickly as that, with the well-being of a child under her care at stake, the nervousness dissolved and the nanny returned. Regis had to fight to keep his features neutral.

"The precise circumstances are a matter of national secrecy," Clarus said.

Her eyes flicked toward Regis. He could all but hear the thoughts she didn't voice: had they been discussing this alone, she never would have accepted such an evasive response from him. He debated whether to make some sign to her. Under the right circumstances, she was fully capable of tearing Clarus a new breathing hole. Doubtless he would have looked shocked to see the coeurl that lurked beneath Crea's innocuous exterior. Regis was forced to steeple his hands in front of his face to hide the smile.

"Then I can't help you," Crea said.

A murmur ran down the table. He should have intervened, but a perverse part of him was enjoying watching her. Let the council now say that he had fallen in love with a servant. And let all of them understand how wrong that assessment was.

Aldebrand cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Miss Vinculum, you are refusing to cooperate with the crown. The penalties for such are severe. Are you prepared to face them?"

"I am not refusing to cooperate with the crown. I am refusing to give advice on a situation I don't understand. Surely you realized the consequences _that_ could have, Master Aldebrand."

"Enough," Regis said. If he allowed it to go on any further, he would not be able to suppress his own amusement. "The situation, in short, is this. Niflheim has somehow acquired inside knowledge that no betrothal has taken place. They have issued a threat: If we do not make the engagement of Reina and Ravus legal and public, harm will befall his family."

His councillors stared at him. Regis pointedly ignored them, keeping his level gaze on Crea. How dare he explain matters of importance to a mere nanny? He would have done the same regardless of whether or not they had summoned her. Though the alternative included a hot cup of tea and rather more pleasant company.

She uncrossed her arms. He could see questions work through her mind in the way she narrowed her eyes, not staring at him so much as past his shoulder, and chewed her bottom lip.

"As you know, I am reluctant to make a choice that will cause lasting harm to either of my children," Regis said. Or even temporary discomfort.

It took some few moments before Crea spoke. When she did, the council—and indeed, the fate of all Lucis—hung silently on her words.

"The fact is that Reina would be delighted if you told her she was marrying Ravus. She would also be delighted to have an excuse to get a new dress. But you're thinking of long-term issues. I can't tell you if she will grow up to love him—no one can do that—but they would have a relationship built on friendship and mutual respect, which I'm sure is more than some people can say. She gives every indication of growing into a young woman who values her duty to Lucis and her family, so I suspect you have little to worry about in that respect. As for whether or not she can handle the knowledge that her betrothal was built as a bargaining chip, I think the twins understand a great deal more about the kingdom than we give them credit for. She understands exchange and sacrifice and public appearance. And she doesn't like to see people get hurt. I think she would do it not just willingly, but happily."

And that was that. If not an answer to their deliberation, at least the cleanest answer to all their questions any could hope for.

Even if it was an answer that stacked up against Regis' own desires.


	23. Decision

In spite of Crea's testimony before the council, the discussion dragged on following her dismissal. While a true betrothal was now solidly an option, some of the council saw it for what it was: a distraction and a temporary patch to an ever-growing problem. Regis was inclined to oppose it for reasons of freedom. He had been free to choose his marriage when he had reached that point in his life, and he had intended that his children should be able to do the same. But there was an inevitability about it that he was forced to accept.

Nevertheless, he did agree that it was merely a patch and not a solution. If their solution included invading Tenebrae in the future, would it not be better to forego the betrothal and strike now?

By the time the council at last adjourned, it was well into the afternoon—verging on evening—and no decision had been made. They chased each other in circles. Regis was no better off; he seemed to flip-flop from one side of the argument to the other without any clear notion of which approach would be best for not just his people but his family and Ravus' family.

He ascended to the upper levels with the beginnings of a headache. When the doors opened on the royal lounge, Crea was standing directly before them, waiting for him. The expression on her face was grim and regretful.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I would have stopped him if I'd been here."

Behind her, Ravus stood in the lounge with Reina. She beamed. He stared at Regis, his heterochromatic gaze defiant. One glance at them and Crea was enough to fit the pieces together.

He had told her. He had told her they were to be betrothed and now if Regis wished to reverse the decision, he would have to explain why they weren't. It wasn't inescapable. But it was a nuisance.

"Do you believe this will save your family?" Regis asked.

"I believe it will do more than you are willing to," Ravus snapped.

The smile on Reina's face faded. "Father, what's going on?"

What could he tell her? That Ravus wished to marry her not for her own sake, but to protect his family? That he held doubts that Ravus felt anything for her that he did not feel for his own little sister and that, indeed, if he had, Regis would have thought considerably less of him?

Damn him. Damn him for creating this situation and forcing Regis to walk unprepared into the center of it. Reina was looking between the two of them with growing alarm.

"There is a situation in Tenebrae that we have concerns for, my dear. For now that is all I shall share." Regis forced a smile. "I take it you are well pleased with this arrangement?"

The smile blossomed once more. "I am." She laughed. "I told you I would marry him."

And so she had. It seemed years ago, in a different life. A life that had been halfway under his control, at least. Now it was spiraling into uncertainty and he had lost hold of the reins. He needed time to think but there was none.

"There are many considerations yet to take into account." Perhaps he could buy himself some time. Perhaps not. Regardless, he smiled because she did, and he had never been able to feel morose while his children were joyous. "For now, I must speak with Ravus. I believe I hear your brother downstairs. Run along and share your news with him."

She was only too eager to do so. And once the hurried sounds of her footsteps had faded away and Regis was left standing in the lounge with only Ravus and Crea, he spoke.

"What do you anticipate accomplishing with this?"

"You know full well the answer to that question," Ravus said.

"To force my hand on matters of this engagement? Do you believe that, had discussion in the council not gone in a direction favorable to your interests, I would not deny her this even after you had waved it before her? I may dote on my children, but I will not hesitate to protect them—even when that causes temporary distress."

What color Ravus' skin held drained, but in fury rather than shock. " You would dash this away, even after seeing how pleased she would be to be engaged to me?"

"If I believed that was the best way to protect her, yes. But, regardless of your fumbling about here, that is not the conclusion we have come to. To mitigate matters in Tenebrae—though we like it very little—we will comply with the demands of Niflheim."

"You like it very little because it changes nothing for you! Because you don't care about my family and have been reluctant to do anything for them ever since I have arrived here! Why doesn't Lucis take a hand in its own fate?!"

Regis regarded him levelly. Most often, he behaved as was fitting for a young man of royal blood and Regis managed to forget how young he truly was. But occasionally the child hiding behind the man stepped out.

"You are determined to fix the blame for this on someone," Regis said levelly. "In that I see reason; it is much easier to have a direction for your anger than risk it growing self-destructive. But instead of assigning it to the obvious target, you assign it to your allies. Have a care where you throw accusations, young prince. Or those who stand beside you will fail to appear one day."

Rather than give him time to compose another, equally furious and juvenile response, Regis turned and walked away from the conversation while Ravus was still fuming in his direction.

"Crea," he called without turning back. "I would like a word."

He was halfway down the hall with Crea's footsteps trailing after when he realized he had no place to hold a conversation with her. He dared not speak with her privately in his room. He hardly dared set foot in hers, but they had already passed the library and the lounge was occupied by Ravus. It seemed a waste to go downstairs just to discuss matters with her.

She caught up with him outside her room and opened the door. "Is this word going to be long enough for a cup of tea?"

If only he dared to accept.

He dodged the question instead, standing solidly outside her room and rooting his feet to the floor to prevent them from running away. "I only wished to check in with you following the council meeting. I apologize for the lack of warning."

"Oh. It's fine. I doubt you had time to give one, though I admit it was a little nerve wracking at first to stand in front of them like I was about to be judged."

And judged she had been. Unless he was very much mistaken, no one had found her wanting.

"I would imagine so. But then?"

"Oh, I don't know. They started talking about Reina and demanding I give them an answer just so they could check a box: 'asked for expert opinion'. I find myself wondering if they had any intention of listening to me at all."

"I believe you made yourself heard all the same."

"Maybe I did."

"You did very well. I hope it was not too uncomfortable for you."

"It was alright. Next time you need someone to shake a fist and get them to line up for you, just give me a call." She smiled, mischief on her face.

He found himself smiling in return. And thinking thoughts that were better left alone.

"Did you want to come in for tea?" She asked.

In spite of those thoughts, he managed the answer he knew he needed to give.

"I dare not. Not after the reminder you left me with last night, and your display in council today, which has left me thinking how very queenly you behave when the situation calls for it."

A flush rose to her cheeks. It was just as beautiful as the smile and he tortured himself for several seconds with how perfect her lips looked, parted in surprise. He dragged his gaze away from her and glanced down the hall. They tortured themselves and each other over this. Would neither ever learn to let it lie?

Regis cast about for a change of subject and found one. "Look after Ravus for me. He makes a solid show of being prepared to take over Tenebrae, but I suspect it is merely that. That boy has been sorely neglected in his own home. I dare not do the same to him here. For his own sake, if not mine."

"I will," she said. Her voice sounded unnaturally high and strangled. She cleared her throat. "He's a good kid. Even if he doesn't always show it."

He nodded, for there was nothing else to say, and took a stiff step backward. "I'll leave you to deal with the aftermath of his announcement then."

It should have earned a wry grin from her. But instead, when he stole a glance at her face, it was to see a lingering of dazed surprise as she nodded, almost absent-mindedly, to his comment. He turned away before she could say anything else. Or he could.

By the time Regis rejoined his family for dinner, the news was running rampant among the Citadel children—though some of them were hardly children. Iris was so excited that every time she spoke of the pending engagement, her voice rose an octave higher with every few words until she was eventually speaking in inaudible squeaks and squeals, punctuated by mooning expressions. Cindy was more reserved with her judgement, but when Regis joined them in the lounge, she and Reina were crowded over Reina's phone, scrolling through pictures of dresses. White dresses.

Gods forbid it come to that so soon.

Noctis attempted to maintain a haughty indifference, though every so often his sister's infectious joy would provoke a smile and a shake of his head. Gladiolus was watching his own sister and Reina with a sort of bemused interest.

"I don't get it," he murmured to Noctis. "It's just a dress."

To which Noctis had merely shrugged.

Ignis was more reserved. He put on a smile whenever drawn into it, but when he believed no one was watching, he looked rather forlorn. Ravus, for the moment, was absent. Hopefully he was in his rooms, thinking hard about Regis' words. In any case, his absence allowed Reina and her friends to talk—and giggle—loudly about him.

It was a joyful and chaotic mess to break up simply to have dinner. It almost wasn't worth the hassle. In the end the matter was settled simply by having a non-traditional dinner served in the lounge where it could be shared with everyone. So they shared a meal that was more like tea than dinner, with little sandwiches and hors d'oeuvres in place of dinner. Someone in the kitchens even made a last minute decision to place more emphasis on the impromptu celebration by making a series of little cakes and sending those up as well.

It was rather much, so soon after the twins' birthday. But they were enjoying themselves—even Noctis, usually so reserved, was entertaining himself and his friends by doing impressions of his sister swooning over Ravus. Who was Regis to object?

With all the excitement buzzing around the royal levels, it was a challenge to convince anyone to go to bed that night. In the end it was Reina herself who begged off her evening lessons, claiming she was too excited to focus on Dreaming. In spite of that, it took Regis just as long to convince both twins to lay down and go to sleep as it would have to hold Reina's lessons on a normal evening. But their excitement was infectious and, in spite of Regis' misgivings, he managed to stave off any feelings of reticence regarding sharing Ravus' actions with the council the following morning.

Needless to say, they were less pleased than Reina had been.

"He should be punished for his insolence! He is a guest in these halls; let him not forget who shelters him from the empire."

"If he thinks to force our hand, we should stand strong against his wishes."

"And go against our own plans simply to make a mockery of him? Let's not be childish."

"Masters." Clarus broke through the outraged babble that had broken out at the council table. "Going against his wishes is now all but out of the question. A decision was made yesterday. His Majesty has ruled that the leaning of the council—which so happened to align with Prince Ravus' actions—shall be upheld. Princess Reina shall be betrothed to Prince Ravus."

Hearing the words spoken out loud and so matter-of-factly sent a sting of regret through Regis' chest. A part of him was still inclined to insist that she was much too young. And Ravus was so much older than her. He set those thoughts aside. She was happy—ecstatic—to go through with these plans. If nothing else, they were friends and would likely remain so after so much time spent growing together. It was not much of a price to pay for lives saved in Tenebrae. Even if she never should have had to pay it in the first place.

It did, however, cause a lull of quiet to run through the council. Some looked well pleased with themselves while others merely appeared resigned. Some few had doubtless been holding on to a hope of furthering the war with Niflheim and breaking this pretense of peace. They were not alone. Only a fool would believe this armistice would last, but the time must be chosen well and carefully. Niflheim would expect an attack right after pressing Lucis. They would gauge Regis' reaction and find him compliant. With any luck, that would make them complacent.

And then, when Niflheim believed Lucis had fallen into its net, they would strike.


	24. Allegiance

If Regis had thought his schedule was packed before, it was nothing compared to what it quickly became. Within two days, he longed for a time when the only issues were those growing multitude of troubles brought on by Ramuh's storm. Now he had that and more.

The storm still raged. Every issue that had been a concern before was still a concern now—and growing greater every day the rains refused to let up. It was a struggle to grow crops in sodden, flooded soil: those plants that failed to wash away in the flood inevitably drowned or contracted root rot as they wallowed in undrained fields. For now they could make do with canned food and dry goods, but for how long? How long would this trial persist?

Weskham's renewed presence in court did have a positive effect on that trouble, however. Though Accordo had little agriculture of their own, they agreed to trade what they could spare with Lucis, which brought in a trickle of fresh fruit and vegetables on boats.

Meanwhile, power and repairs were a perpetual issue. The death toll of those struck by lightning while climbing poles in the midst of the unrelenting storm was ever growing and companies like EXINERIS were being forced to hire and train more workers. Those workers were less skilled and yet demanded more pay. With no other choice, the companies paid. There would come a day when they couldn't afford any more lives. What then? The crown could subsidize wages, but would it be enough? Doubtful.

And, as Ravus had noted, the Starscourge was running rampant once more. It wasn't enough to have the storms and floods. They also had a brewing pandemic on their hands. Sick people could not work on the power lines, nor transport food and clean water to those in need. The storm made it more difficult to enforce a quarantine, as well. Half the roads across Lucis were washed out. They couldn't have transported sick people to a secure location if they wanted to—and telling people to stay in their homes was simply out of the question, when most homes were flooded or washed away entirely. Refugee camps were quickly becoming a spawning ground for the disease.

If all that was not enough, they now had the added pressure from Niflheim and the pending betrothal ceremony between Prince Ravus and Princess Reina. A date was chosen and the news was announced publicly with mixed reception. Some thought it poorly timed, in the midst of a disaster—or several disasters mixed together. Others found relief and some smidgeon of hope in the coming engagement. But whatever it meant outside the Citadel, inside it meant chaos.

For all Regis tried to keep out of it and save his time and attention for more important matters, it was difficult to be entirely detached. At first his opinion was asked at every turn. When he made it clear that he cared not at all what aperitifs were served at the ceremony, others were drawn in instead. First Ravus, then Reina herself and—along with her—Crea. A whole team of event planners dogged their steps whenever they left the royal levels, which was increasingly more frequent with the commotion demanding it. Reina initially shied away from it, but after a few days she seemed to embrace it. She looked truly the picture of a princess, giving instructions and orders from amidst the sea of people.

Despite her growing comfort in the situation, it set Regis on edge. It was a larger crowd that followed her these days than since her new courtly responsibilities had begun. She had Crea with her, yes, and occasionally Iris or Cindy, but the simple swell of attention seemed to invite trouble like Hamon represented. Perhaps he wouldn't approach her again so openly while she was surrounded by servants and courtiers, but he was sly enough to turn the crowds to his advantage. Besides, crowds in general were always something of a risk. There was a reason why Clarus and Cor dogged Regis' steps, and it wasn't because they were especially good company—though sometimes that was true as well. He would have felt much more at ease if Iris had been several years older or if Cindy had inherited Cid's combat training.

With nowhere else to turn, Regis found himself summoning Captain Ulric to his study, a week after the mess began.

"I need a Glaive to attend Her Highness." Regis stood behind his desk, too restless to be seated, and regarded Nyx levelly.

Nyx stood at attention, eyes focused on the wall just past Regis' right shoulder. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"And think carefully before you make an assignment. It will need to be someone quick-witted and observant who can hold their own in a crowd without missing a detail. If possible, I would prefer a young woman of as few years as possible, who will not look out of place at Princess Reina's side. Is there such a Glaive under your command."

"I don't know about looking 'out of place,' Your Majesty, but I can think of one who fits the bill. She's a refugee, like most of us, and lived on the streets before we picked her up. The city guard said they found her in the middle of a street brawl, holding her own against half a dozen others. She's agile like a cat and she can case a room of people like no one's business. She's street smart, Your Majesty."

"Then she would know, for example, if someone was a manipulative bastard with honeyed words?"

"Smell them a mile away, Your Majesty."

He was fond of her already and they hadn't even met.

"What is her name?" Regis asked.

"Crowe Altius, Your Majesty. You want me to bring her in?"

"Yes. I should like to meet her."

It took no more than fifteen minutes to have the Glaive in question summoned to Regis' office. The doors opened to admit Nyx once more; in his wake came a young woman in a Kingsglaive uniform. She moved like a cautious cat, aware of every square foot of floor before she stepped on it. In the instant they entered, her eyes had already darted around the room twice before coming to land on Regis. She was slight of build, but in the strength of his bond to her, he could feel her aptitude with Caelum magic. She must not have been far removed from the royal line—and descended from someone with more propensity for elemancy than Regis had.

"Your Majesty," Nyx said. "Crowe Altius."

She bowed, but dropped her gaze from his only briefly, as if she was reluctant to expose the back of her neck to anyone at all. Cautious. Aware. Sharp. And with enough strength hidden beneath the surface not to call attention to herself. She would do.

"Crowe Altius," Regis said, "Are you prepared to serve your kingdom by protecting your princess?"

"Yeah," she said, "I guess so, Your Majesty."

Not quite the level of formality he had come to expect from those around him, but that could be learned.

"From this point on, and until further notice, you are assigned as Princess Reina's bodyguard. When she is outside the royal levels and within the public eye, so too will you be. You go where she goes and does as she does. In all else, you take your orders directly from her. Is that clear?" Regis asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Reina would little know what to do with a Glaive under her command, but that was not of great concern to him. They would both learn and, with any luck, they would not get along so poorly after all adjustments were made. Perhaps Reina would have a full house of friends after all. Or perhaps not, for Crea had already warned him that these things could hardly be arranged. Nevertheless, a father could hope. And a Caelum could do worse than an Amicitia, a Sophair, and a Glaive as their retinue.

Once both Kingsglaives had been dismissed from his office, Regis returned to his overwhelming workload with a lighter heart. Reina would be well looked after. For once he wished she had taken after her brother, who was wisely keeping well out of this whole mess. But there was no help for it. She had stepped outside the sacred zone of their private quarters and the rest of the world had descended on her.

It wasn't just servants and event planners. Though the others were not new, and had been a part of her life ever since her show of _maturity_ in court and council, which had landed her with fresh courtly responsibilities. And so she was surrounded, now as before, by courtiers and all manner of people vying for her favor and attention, attempting to earn a place with the next generation of Caelum. She had a wealth of friends and no one to explain to her that they were false. If only Aulea had survived. She had grown up in that social jungle and had always been adept at navigating courtiers, having once been one herself. She could have stood beside Reina, guided her as she deserved to be guided. Instead she had only Crea who, while beautiful and intelligent and skilled in many areas, had very little knowledge of the social landscape surrounding the throne.

But he had done the best he could for them. And the rest of the kingdom was clamoring for his attention.

When next he crossed paths with Reina—and every time thereafter—she was in the company of Crowe. Or, at least, Crowe was nearby, standing like a shadow in Reina's presence. And yet, despite their proximity, it was difficult to associate the pair of them. So different did they appear in every respect. Then again, the same could have been said about any one of Reina's friends.

When he asked her about Crowe, some days later, Reina merely said, "She's wonderful, father. But I think she says a lot less than she wants to."

And that was all he learned of her for some time.

In other parts of the Citadel, life went on much as it ever had, albeit at a somewhat more frantic pace than usual. In between plans for the betrothal and emergency proceedings to counteract the ill effects of the storm, they discussed Niflheim. All meetings were strictly off the record. They had so many troubles to contend with that they were at no loss for excuses to meet with the full council. An alternative explanation—or no explanation at all—was given for each closed-door meeting.

"We must act now, while Niflheim believes us occupied with other plans."

"If nothing else, we must be prepared for Niflheim to act. I can think of no other reason for this pretense over the betrothal ceremony. What does it gain them?"

"If we strike at Niflheim now, then we have no need to prepare for them to act. The best defense is a well-sharpened sword."

"And if we leave ourselves open to attack when we strike at them?"

"A properly prepared attack on our part will not leave us open. These are basic concepts of strategy."

"Whatever we are going to do, we must do it quickly. Once the ceremony is upon us, we will be out of time."

"Then let's have it done now. Deploy the Kingsglaive to Niflheim today."

"To Niflheim?! I thought we were discussing strategy, not suicide!"

If they could have agreed on one single matter, it might have been done. In principle he had councillors to advise him in every matter of ruling the kingdom. In practice, they all stepped on each other's toes and claimed their expertise was related to every problem. Especially when that problem was war. In a way, they were right. It affected everything and a great many things fed into it. But the execution was poorly done. Over the years Regis had learned which voices to give credence in which areas, but that did not make their endless debates any less tiring.

"A frontal attack on Gralea is simply out of the question."

"I did not say an attack on Gralea."

"Where, then, would you have us strike, in your infinite wisdom?"

They were spared an answer by a knock at the door. The whole room quieted. Any disagreements they had with each other dissolved in the face of sudden alarm. Once all arguments had ended and the room was in utter silence, Regis spoke.

"Enter."

The door opened by a few inches and Avun's head appeared. "So sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty, but Marshal Leonis is requesting an urgent word with you."

Regis rose. The atmosphere in the room was so tense the councillors did not even dare murmur their suspicions. When Cor needed a word so urgently that he interrupted a council meeting, it was not to be taken lightly.

Regis stepped outside. Rather than meet Cor there in the antechamber, Avun led him to one of the smaller waiting rooms off the hall. There he found Cor, not alone, but in the company of Ravus. Cor stood in the center of the room, arms crossed and eyes fixed on Ravus. Ravus leaned back in an armchair, arms and legs crossed like a sulky child. He alone looked up when Regis entered, but neither said a word until the door was closed.

"You asked me to keep an eye on this one, following your chat with Niflheim," Cor said. "I found him skulking around on the balcony above the council room. Looking for some peep hole, no doubt."

"Is this true, Prince Ravus?" Regis asked.

Ravus made no attempt to deny the accusations. He averted his gaze and resettled his pose of haughty indignation.

Regis sighed. One more problem on his plate.

"I have opened my doors to you, given you full privileges as a guest of Lucis in my halls. This is a poor way to repay that. I understand that you feel beholden to Niflheim for the safety of your family, but I have even arranged to pass approved information to them—through you—for the purpose of keeping them placated. In spite of your ill-conceived actions regarding your betrothal to my daughter, I have allowed you to remain unchecked and merely observed inside the Citadel. So far as I can see, you have gained everything you have asked for. The betrothal is proceeding as you planned—as you demanded—despite the better judgement of many others, and the questionable olive branch offered by the imperial chancellor has been accepted. What could you hope to gain by betraying my trust?"

"Trust?" Ravus looked up at him. "You put this dog on me and claim in the same breath that you trust me? You haven't given me a modicum of respect since I set foot in these halls."

"That is not true. If I did not trust you I never would have permitted you to walk freely. Nor would I have given you such privileges as you hold, nor granted my daughter's hand to you. Yet I begin to see it has been misplaced. Am I to believe we have other imperial spies in our midst, or are you the individual that has passed information regarding your lack of betrothal to Princess Reina?"

A violent flush rose to Ravus' cheeks and he looked away again, confirming Regis' suspicions.

"And as that was insufficient, you now seek further information to pass to the empire, despite our earlier agreement," Regis said.

"My mother and sister are in danger!" Ravus was on his feet, hands clenched at his sides. "And you care nothing for them! You're closed up here behind your walls, safely sealed in your Citadel. It doesn't matter to you what the chancellor does to my family. My home. So long as Reina and Noctis are safe, all you care for is Lucis."

"That is not true."

For all their disagreements, Sylva was just one more person misled by the Astrals. From here he could see that. They rained chaos down on Lucis and demanded his obedience. They were no less tyrannical than Niflheim, and if she had fallen into line behind them, who was to blame? Her? Or them?

And young Lunafreya was an innocent in it all. She had been taught to follow in her mother's footsteps, but even now, was she any more than a frightened child pushed into a strategic position by the empire? She was a bargaining chip. Nothing more.

"We have been assessing the situation as it evolves and—"

"But discuss is all you ever do! You sit in that room and they talk and talk and talk, but you never _do anything_!"

"Enough." Regis fixed Ravus with a steely gaze and held until Ravus took a step back and dropped into his chair, defeated. "I am very fond of you, young man, and if not for the fact that my daughter is involved, I would be pleased to expand my family by one more. But this is unbefitting. I realize that Sylva has mistreated you. Perhaps a part of you even felt a relief at being sent away, and ever since then, guilt has gnawed at you. This is not the way to make up for treacherous thoughts. Hotheadedness will earn neither of us anything and charging into Niflheim's territory without fully understanding their motives or capabilities is folly. Every decision creates a ripple. When you are king, the choices you make cast the largest waves. I cannot afford to act on impulse—neither mine nor yours. Do you understand me?"

Ravus nodded, but would not meet his gaze. "Yes, Sire."

Regis crossed to him, lowering into the chair beside him. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and clasped his hands, staring down at the tile floor past them. Here he had come with the intention of giving Ravus a firm cuff between the ears to force him to toe the line. He found he had no desire to do so.

"Now, then," Regis said. "As you may not have heard, Lucis is making plans to strike while Niflheim is distracted. We hope this betrothal ceremony will put them at ease; if they see us as compliant, then we hope they will expect no attack from us."

Ravus looked up, a new fire kindled in his eyes. "Then you'll do it? You'll go after my mother and sister?"

"That is our intention."

Never mind the fact that the decision hadn't officially been made by the council. Ravus had swayed Regis' mind, and that was what mattered. He would return and tell them as much.

"Then I'm coming with you," Ravus said.

"I fear that is quite out of the question." Regis lifted a hand to head off Ravus' objections. "No. I have made my wishes clear, and if this is to go smoothly you must trust my judgement. In the event that this attack goes poorly, I would rather not risk you falling into imperial hands. I dare not think what they do to their captive spies when they learn they have not been so cooperative. Furthermore, for the pretense to work, it will be best for you to be here—to all appearances preparing for your betrothal. Let Niflheim's eyes remain fixed on you, while we strike behind them."

Ravus struggled against his defiance. The conflict was written on his face; his desire to put everything right, if not for his family's sake, fought against some kindling of respect for Regis. At last he dropped his eyes and nodded, wordlessly.

"Good man." Regis squeezed his shoulder. "You have your task, then. Make your reports to Niflheim, give no hint of subterfuge, but give whatever details they request of the betrothal. You are to be engaged to Princess Reina. Your plan has worked."

Ravus nodded again. Regis slapped his shoulder and leaned back in his chair. "Go then. Make your reports."

Once Ravus had left—Cor watching him all the while like a hound forced to release his prey without chase—Cor turned to Regis.

"You're going to trust him to make the report you want, even after he's lied to you and snuck around behind your back?"

"Yes."

Cor was too well-disciplined to ask why, but the stiffness of his stature—his arms held immobile at his sides with his hands clenched into fists and a slight forward lean toward the door as if he strained against an invisible leash—begged to know.

"I cannot afford to mistrust my own household at this time, Cor. The boy has his motivations, and while I might disagree with them, they will hold him to his purpose. Niflheim has offered to harm what he loves. I have offered to rescue it. I believe I have not misjudged him."

Cor looked away and back to the door. "You still want me to keep a tail on him?"

"No. I have a more important task for you now."


	25. Departure

The council had much to say on the subject of Regis' decision. Some of it, at least, was favorable. But he cut their display of opinions short, as he had no further use for those, and set them about their work making the kingdom ready for a betrothal. The rest would occur quietly, beneath the surface of an already-chaotic kingdom. No whisper of their plans could reach NIflheim. Regis could only pray that, if there had been imperial betrayers still in his kingdom, Reina would long since have sniffed them out.

The war council that convened was an odd one, and hinted of days long gone. Captain Ulric presented, along with a few of his highly decorated Glaives. The regular army was kept well out of the way, for they would do little good in this situation when the Glaive could move more quickly and efficiently. In addition to them, Clarus and Cor flanked Regis and, as he was present with no clear-cut duties assigned yet, Weskham presented as well.

No sooner had they all assembled in the war room than a knock came to the door. When given permission to enter, Avun peered apologetically around the room before fixing his eyes on Regis.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty. It's Master Sophair—"

Before further explanation could be given, Cid pushed his way past Avun, who looked affronted at this treatment.

Cid came to stand squarely inside the door, arms crossed over his chest. "You kids forget what yer daddies told ya? If you're gonna charge off into trouble, take a mechanic. 'Cause he's the only one of you numbskulls who can solve a damn problem."

In spite of the tension in the room, Regis smiled. He stood surrounded by his old friends—every last one of them, down to those he never thought to stand beside again.

"It's alright, Avun," Regis said. "Join us, Cid. We would be pleased to add your expertise to this particular problem."

"Damn right you would." Cid shot Avun a glare and took his place next to Clarus, at Regis' side. "Kids couldn't find your ass with both hands."

Clarus grinned. Cor crossed his arms over his chest, expression unchanged from one of stony disapproval. Weskham tossed his head back and let out a low, rolling laugh. Those Kingsglaive in the room exchanged perplexed looks and a shrug or two.

"Well," Clarus said. "Now that the whole crew is present, I suppose we can begin."

"You know, I'm surprised at you, Clarus," Weskham said. "I would have expected you to be the first to oppose Regis charging into Tenebrae?"

"You try to oppose him in this," Clarus challenged.

Regis pursed his lips. "No one is challenging anyone. The decision has been made and discussion has moved on. You are here, I presume, because you are well aware of that and intend to help rather than hinder."

He looked between Clarus and Weskham, holding each of their gazes for several moments before releasing them. Cid and Cor he had no concerns for. Neither of them would attempt to prevent him from going to Tenebrae. And for now, at least, neither would Clarus or Weskham.

"We have work to do," Regis said.

Planning consumed the bulk of that day, and was still unfinished by the time they adjourned for the evening. Regis had nightly commitments that he was not prepared to set aside. Not even for this. Whatever else would happen, his priorities remained with his children. And he intended that they should know that.

The following day was similar in many respects. Planning and preparation for departure continued during the daylight hours; when Regis was working beside his old friends he felt complete in a way he had not done for many decades. There was an energy about the Citadel. He drew it in and thrived on it. He felt more a prince and less an old man tasked with too many responsibilities. They teased Cid for his age and Cor for his youth, though time had shortened every distance between them, while Clarus, Weskham, and Regis were thick as thieves in the heart of it all.

At night, he sat beside Reina's bed while she endeavored to Dream the result of his excursion to Tenebrae. Night after night she Dreamed much the same: multiple paths forked out from a point and she could not discern which actions led to which ends. It did nothing to console her. Indeed, it did little for Regis' confidence in the situation, but he had trusted his life to his brothers' hands many times before and he would do so again.

At last the morning of their departure came. There was no dawning of a glorious day, for they would leave in the cover of pre-dawn. Even if they had planned to leave later, the storm would have darkened any coming of the sun, as it did every morning.

"The boat is waiting," Weskham whispered, in spite of the fact that they were very much alone in his rooms with no one to disturb or overhear them. The dark had a solemnity about it that demanded quiet.

They stepped out into the hall together. Clarus waited for them there.

"Cid has the engine running," he said, falling into step beside them. Even he kept his voice quiet and subdued, as if the silent Crownsguards along the hall should be kept excluded from this conversation. "And Cor is overseeing the Glaive."

They passed by Crea's door and then the twins'. It was hours before the time when they would wake. Much too early to disturb them with farewells, but even so it felt wrong to walk past without seeing them. With any luck they would return to Lucis this evening, nearly before his children had noticed he was gone. Unlikely, given that both twins had proven themselves sensitive beyond their years, but he hoped for it anyway.

The twins' bedroom door was but a few paces behind them when it opened. Reina, holding Chika the Chocobo to her chest, peered down the hall at them.

So much for a quick and unnoticed departure.

"Reina, my dear, it is very early. Go back to bed. I will see you when we return."

She rubbed sleep from her eyes and resettled her grip on Chika. "I just wanted to tell you that you'll be okay."

The daughter telling the father that all would be well was not usually the way of things, but his was not a usual family. Nevertheless. "Reina. You are not meant to Dream without supervision."

"I didn't Dream, Father. Not really. The Burgundy Man told me."

"Regis, we must make haste," Clarus said.

He retraced his steps and knelt to hug her fiercely. One goodbye, at least, he would have before departing. He kissed her hair and held her out at arms length. "Be good while I'm away."

"Regis," Clarus said.

Reina nodded and he released her, rising to return to the others.

"I will be back as soon as possible," he told her.

Thin and meaningless as the assurance was, it was the only one he could offer her. She seemed to accept it, for she merely stood in the middle of the hall with an unreadable expression on her face like the strange clarity that sometimes followed a premonition for her, and watched him go. The elevator doors closed on that view of her.


	26. The Burgundy Man

"If you kids are done playing around, we'll cast off and get this heap underway!" Cid had to shout to be heard over the storm and even then his words were nearly drowned out by a rumbling of thunder.

Regis gave a nod. With a great lurch and a rumble of the engine—quieter than Regis remembered beneath the storm—they were set free into the ocean.

"The clouds only extend a few miles past the coast," Weskham said. "After that, we should be in clear waters."

"Unless Leviathan takes issue with our passing," Regis said.

The look on Weskham's face said he hadn't considered that before and wished he hadn't still. "You really pissed them off, didn't you?"

"The Draconian does not take kindly to being ignored," Regis said. And nothing else for it.

As the boat began to pick up speed, they left the rail and headed to the cockpit to seek shelter and Cid's company. Cor joined them a few moments later, shaking water from his head like a wet dog. It was drier beneath the cover, but only just. Weskham stowed his umbrella. It would do little good against the spray coming in from the sides.

"Gonna get real choppy here, so hold onto your hats," Cid warned as the docks of Insomnia fell away behind them.

Regis braced himself against the side of the cockpit, while Clarus and Weskham did likewise. Cor stood at parade rest beside Cid's seat, feet set on the rocking deck and hands tucked behind his back. There was little to hold onto; instead they wedged in as well as they could and hoped that the traction between their shoes and deck held. The waters only seemed to grow rougher. They skimmed over the top of the choppy sea, dropping down each time they crested a wave and were buffeted this way and that by incoming waters. The day was still so dark they couldn't tell if dawn had passed or not, but ahead in the distance they began to see the hint of light.

"What is that?" Cor asked.

"It's what we, outside the Crown City, call dawn," Weskham said.

Cor shot him a murderous look. But it was. Dawn as they had not seen in months, lightening the eastern sky. They watched it grow as the boat lurched beneath them. The clouds overhead grew paler. For the first time in months, the rains began to slow, great drops becoming a steady drizzle. Thunderous roars faded into distant rumbles behind them. And all at once they found themselves sailing in clear seas under a pale blue sky, with the sun shining in the east.

"I admit, even having heard your report, a part of me refused to believe the whole world was not covered in storms." Clarus lifted a hand to shield his eyes.

Regis stepped out onto the deck and into the watery sunlight. He blinked aching eyes in the unfamiliar brightness and stared off the side of the ship to the lit horizon. Behind them, Insomnia was hidden from view behind a wall of black storm clouds. The only light was the occasional burst of lightning.

The sudden calm called the others from below decks. The hatch swung open and what Kingsglaives had remained below and out of reach of the storm emerged, blinking, into the sunlight to gaze eastward. For a time no one spoke. It seemed a bright portent for their mission to come. But whatever it was, they basked in it, stepping out into the growing light and soaking in as much as they could now. For if all went well they would return to the storm before dawn tomorrow.

Once out of Ramuh's reach, the waters calmed, and though Regis remained tense and alert, standing at the rail of the boat and feeling for any indication that Leviathan would take up the call and prevent them from reaching their destination, the rest of the voyage proved to be smooth sailing.

It was mid morning before the coast of Niflheim could be seen. Cid took them around it, keeping to the horizon and out of sight as well as they could without even cloud cover to hide their passage. They swept north, hoping to land as near to Tenebrae as possible.

"Let's hope this visit to Tenebrae goes more smoothly than the last," Clarus said.

"This time we do not have an imperial spy in the Citadel," Regis said.

Cor scoffed. "Yes we do. You're just coddling him instead of throwing him in a cell."

He never had been one to mince words. Some day that would get him in trouble, but Regis had always found it endearing. Not many people would speak their mind so openly in front of the king, even when their mind held criticism.

"That is Prince Ravus of Tenebrae you speak of, Cor, and soon to be my daughter's betrothed. Someday he will be Prince-escort to your Princess, so have a care where you lay your words."

Cor shrugged, but added no further commentary. If Noctis or Reina turned out to be less tolerant of his rough and outspoken ways, he would struggle to fit under their rule, when the time came. But he would fit. He had a loyalty in him more deep-seated than his stubbornness. And with any luck they would not have to worry about any of that for many years yet.

It was several hours further before Cid gave the call they had been waiting for.

"Got the coast of Tenebrae in sight, Yer Highness. We'll have to swing in closer, but if you've got any magic tricks to make it easier, now'd be the time."

"It's 'Majesty', now, Cid," Clarus said, though he grinned.

"I'm merely surprised he recalled I had a title at all," Regis said. And with that in mind, 'Highness' was near enough. Never mind that he hadn't been a prince for several decades now.

"Captain Ulric." Regis turned to find Ulric standing at his shoulder already. "Have your people stir up a low fog. The more inconspicuous you can make us, the better."

Strictly speaking, the sea was not one of the royal family's domains, but with the right combination of magic and a little ingenuity, fog was a doable form of cover. Regis had some ideas of his own to that end, but this was a problem for the Glaive to pick apart. That was, after all, why he had brought them.

Ulric gave commands and the Glaive scrambled to obey. It was a treat to watch them; they lined the rails of the ship and magic surged around, drawing strength from Eos through Regis, but without taxing him. Fire and ice surged. The winds began to pick up, lifting mist from the surface of the water and casting it wide around them. The glaring light of the sun grew dimmer. The air grew cold and wet. And in but a few minutes more, they could not see the coast of Tenebrae at all anymore. They had merely to trust that Cid would take them there—visible or not.

They moved more slowly in the fog. It covered their passage in broad daylight, yes, but it also prevented them from seeing where they were going. While the waters were smooth and calm, for the most part, they were also unknown. As Cid explained, they had no way of guessing if there were shallow places, reefs, or rocks to be avoided along the way. They could only watch.

They held their breaths, tensions growing as time passed. But they passed by hazards without incident, guided by Cid's deft hands, and drew gradually closer to Tenebrae's coast without attracting attention. So far as they could tell. Soon enough they could see the land through the thick fog, though they were forced to follow it for some distance to find a suitable place to moor.

Tenebrae's coast was largely rocky cliffs, with every available patch of soil densely populated by trees. It was good for cover, if nothing else, but made docking a complicated matter. It took a full hour of scanning the coast to find a sheltered cove that was deep enough to pull into and tie off the boat. From there out it was all motion.

"A contingent should stay with the boat," Clarus said. "Cid, you'll need to be ready to leave at short notice. We may be pursued when we return."

"If you think I'm staying here, you got another thing coming, boy." Cid rose from his seat, arms crossed and a tense scowl on his features. "I didn't sail all the way out here to let you kids get into trouble on your own."

"Somehow has to stay with the boat," Clarus said.

"Then leave some of your fancy guards to do it."

There was little point to arguing with him that Regis could see. He would come whether they preferred him to stay or not; unless Regis meant to order him not to leave the boat—which he did not—they would have his company. And be all the better for it.

In the end a handful of Glaives were left aboard. They were no happier than Cid to be left out of the action, but had less say in what their part to play was. So they remained without complaint. At least not while Regis was within earshot.

Dry land was still a short wade away. They had no dock to tie up at and the cove quickly became too shallow for the boat to approach any closer. Short leaps, however, were a small matter for this crew. Regis stepped up onto the rail and leapt through the In-Between onto the rocky coastline. He landed neatly and turned back to glance at the boat. One by one the Glaives did the same, appearing in blue flashes around him, some tumbling and rolling to counteract the momentum they had inadvertently built up in their warp, until only Cor, Clarus, Cid, and Weskham remained aboard.

"Show off!" Clarus shouted.

Regis grinned, though the way Clarus' voice echoed off the rocks made his hair stand on end. The others, without such a strong grasp of Caelum magic, were forced to vault over the railing and wade through waist-deep water to reach the shore. It took the utmost control to keep from laughing at them. When they reached Regis and stood wringing out their clothes and dumping water from their boots, he did laugh.

"Just like old times, hum?" Weskham gave a good-natured smile in return.

"And don't think we won't get you back, _just like old times_ ," Clarus said.

"I look forward to it," Regis said. "In the meantime, we should be underway."

It was already nearing midday and they had only just arrived. At this rate they would be lucky to return to Lucis before dawn tomorrow. The portion of Tenebrae they had chosen to land in had no roads. Indeed, there was not nearly enough space between trees to drive the Regalia even if they could have gotten it ashore and fit two dozen Kingsglaives inside. They would have to go by foot and trust to Regis' memory of the place to find Fenestala. If he was correct in his estimates, it would take them some time yet to reach it.

So they walked. Tenebrae was shady and cool, despite the shining sun above the canopy, but bit by bit his sodden friends began to dry off. The Glaives fanned about them, ever alert and intense, even when the forest was silent save for birdsong. They were well-trained. And Ulric had them well in hand. Not for the first time, he uttered silent thanks to whatever fate had allowed Reina to uncover Drautos' true nature. He little liked to think what would have happened if he had been in this situation with Drautos and the traitor Glaives at his back.

The day drew on. Through deceptively peaceful forests they marched. It was difficult not to be lulled by the silver trees and enchanting birdsong. No one spoke, much, save to confer regarding directions and times. It was mid afternoon before the trees and terrain became more familiar, and the land began to widen into the dell that surrounded Tenebrae. They circled around, avoiding the southern side of Fenestala, where the forested city wrapped around the railroad, and instead came upon the manor from the north where they could crouch, sheltered among the trees, and see the capitol itself. It looked as peaceful as the forest. And not changed in the slightest from four years ago, when last Regis had seen it.

"How are we getting in?" Clarus asked.

Their vantage showed the rear of the manor, standing atop a spire of stone. The walkway that led up to the front gates would be well guarded, no doubt.

"There is a secondary path." Regis leaned closer to Clarus and pointed out the trailing line that climbed up the backside of the cliff. "If we can gain the level of the manor that way, we should be able to infiltrate from behind. With any luck, the Glaive can move unseen between balconies, but we can only guess where Sylva and Lunafreya are being held."

"I don't like it," Cor said. "You know that chancellor better than I do, but he seems like the sort who's always waiting for someone to sneak up behind him. He'll have a knife ready when we do."

"Chancellor Izunia is infamous in Accordo. Camelia thinks he has eyes on the back of his head and ears in every building," Weskham said.

"I do not believe that Ravus has passed further information to him," Regis said. "And I cannot imagine where else he would learn of our plans. But we will be cautious and assume that he knows more than he could. The more quickly we do this, the less time he will have to react."

And that was the best they could do, for now. They moved out, descending toward the base of the Fenestala spire to begin their climb to the manor.

It was not an easy climb. Twenty years ago he might have managed it without issue. Indeed, Cor seemed to have no trouble with the twisting pathway—if it could even be called that—that wound a way up from the forest floor to the backside of Fenestala Manor. Before his encounter with Drautos, Regis would have blamed his shortness of breath on the Ring, the Wall, and all other manner of excuses for his failing health and accelerated age. But Clarus and Weskham were not much better off. They had all grown complacent and out of shape in their quiet lives.

And yet there was no time to waste with resting. So they climbed. And the stone walls of Fenestala rose up before them. At the top of the rock formation they crouched among the bushes and long-hanging branches, which Tenebrae was thick with, and conversed in hushed voices.

"We can get in through those balconies." Ulric's whisper, as he pointed out the stacked balcony doors all along this side of the Manor, was nearly lost in the rustle of leaves.

"We cannot assume that they will leave doors open and unguarded, as they did during our brief stay here," Clarus whispered.

"They don't need to," Ulric responded. "If we can see it, we can warp to it."

And then some, as Drautos' experimentation had shown. But those were yet skills in the development for the Glaive as a whole. Better not to press their luck when they needed it most.

"And the rest of us?" Weskham asked. "I don't doubt Cor could monkey his way up there, but I'd rather not try my luck climbing only to find a locked door."

"Are you willing to try climbing if you have someone to unlock the door?" Regis asked.

"I go where you lead, Sire."

Cor and Clarus echoed his sentiment with a nod each.

Cid crossed his arms over his chest. "I ain't climbing. But this old frog ain't lost all his leap."

A mechanic and a dragoon to the core. Because no one so near the royal family was permitted to labor under their own ignorance. Everyone who stood beside the throne was capable of defending it.

"Then we have an accord," Regis whispered.

They remained crouched in the bushes for a few moments longer while Ulric divided his Glaives into groups and assigned them sections of the Manor to search. Regis and his retinue were left to the lowest level accessible by balcony, which prevented the old men in his crew from climbing so far.

Once all was organized, they broke.

In silent blue streams, the Kingsglaive leapt from the undergrowth and warped up the side of the manor. They moved in backwards cascades, pausing at each balcony before leaping higher and higher still, nearly disappearing from sight, save for the lingering glow of magic in the air.

Regis left the energetic show of acrobatics to the younger folk. His own warp was less leap and more step. The step began on the ground, transferred him through the In-Between, and ended on the lowest balcony above their heads.

It was not a wide balcony and gave scant cover from the inside. Nevertheless, he kept low and put his back to the outside wall, peering around the edge of the glass door into the room beyond. As Clarus had predicted, all the doors and windows were closed. But in one respect, at least, they were in luck. The room appeared deserted. Servants' quarters, perhaps, but unoccupied for the moment. No lights were lit, no fire was kindled inside. Regis tried the handle and found it, predictably, locked.

Cid landed heavily on the balcony beside him. He straightened and shook out his legs, shooting Regis a glare as if to threaten him off from any comments on a less than perfect landing. Regis bit his tongue to keep from rising to the bait. Instead he made a wordless motion and Cid mirrored him on the opposite side of the door, out of sight from within.

Over the side of the balcony, they watched the others climb. Thankfully, Fenestala resembled not at all the smooth metal-and-glass construction of the Citadel. The stone walls provided ample finger holds even for unfit climbers.

Cor took the lead easily and, in a few moments, Regis offered him a hand up onto the balcony. Clarus and Weskham followed a minute later, and all five of them crowded on the balcony. It was far from large enough to permit all of them to remain out of sight.

"No time like the present," Regis murmured. "Be on your guard."

Though the interior of the room was dimly lit, he could see it clearly through the glass balcony door. He stepped through the In-Between once more and found himself in the cool and dusty interior of an unused room, looking out at his friends from the opposite side of the door. He unlatched it with a flick and pulled the doors open for them.

"Sylva's rooms are several floors up from here. If she remains in her usual quarters under imperial rule, we have scant chance of finding her before the Glaive do. But it is still possible they have moved her and Lunafreya elsewhere in the manor," Regis said in hushed tones, once they were all inside.

"Any idea where they'd be taken?" Cor asked.

"I am merely guessing. But there are lower levels to Fenestala. Beneath the stone. That would be the most secure place to keep a prisoner."

"Well, we are the lowest search party. We may as well take a look while the Glaives search above," Clarus said.

And look they did. The halls beyond the disused quarters were silent and deserted. Eerily so. Their intelligence on Fenestala came mostly from outside; Magitek soldiers guarded the entrances and perimeter and no one was seen coming or going from the manor, but if no one had left, what had happened to the household? There should have been servants and guards if nothing else. Sylva kept a well-ordered household. This was a dusty ruin.

In spite of the silence and apparent abandonment of the manor, they crept along as quietly as they were able. Their footsteps seemed to echo painfully loudly, but nothing came bearing down on them. They risked not a single whisper as Regis led the way; the only thoughts they exchanged were via looks and gestures.

He remembered some little of the interior of Fenestala. It was a castle to rival his own, and not a home to know the layout of in a few short visits. Nevertheless, with some exploration they found the stairs descending lower, then lower still, past the ground-level windows into the dark cellars beyond. The air grew cooler and more damp. But no less quiet.

In the lack of natural light, Regis summoned a handful of crackling flames from Ifrit's gift and they proceeded in a line behind him with Cor bringing up the rear.

The cellars were extensive. The longer they searched the more vast they seemed to become. Indeed, they even found stairs leading deeper down, and descended another level. Across the radio came the regular reports from above: The Kingsglaive proceeded in a similar and doubtless more methodical manner above, but had thus far found nothing. Not a servant, not a guard, not even a Magitek soldier. With each further report, Regis exchanged a look with Clarus over his shoulder. Even without words, they were both in agreement.

Something was very wrong. The sooner they left this place, the better.

It seemed hours they wandered through the maze of doors and corridors in the cellar. Every time they turned a corner it stretched farther on, with more twists and turns, until Regis had little confidence that they would find their way out again. And then, quite suddenly, it ended. In a single, open door with a light on within.

The first light they had seen lit inside Fenestala. The first door they had found open.

Regis glanced over his shoulder at Clarus, squeezing his hand shut on the flames and leaving them standing in what pitiful light trickled out from the open door ahead. Clarus stepped in front of him and led the way in, making a motion that they should follow at a distance. He held his hand at his side, the magic humming around him in preparation for summoning his sword, but he did not draw his blade. Not yet. First he peered into one corner of the room, then the other. And when neither of those yielded dangers, he rounded the door, sword leaping to his call, and stood wide in the open doorway.

Nothing happened. From the shadows they watched him step inside, checking every corner before motioning them forward.

The room was all but empty. A pile of broken crates lay stacked in one corner, a tarp heaped beside them as if pulled off and cast aside. Beside the open door, back to the wall, was a chair as if someone had been sitting, watching over this door.

"Empty. Save for that." Clarus pointed with his sword to a trapdoor.

"Promising," Regis said, entering the room along with the others. "And eerie. Open it."

Clarus banished his sword and stooped to do as he was told. The door opened without so much as a creak; judging by the way Clarus heaved, it must have been heavy, but it was not barred or locked. He hauled it open and cast the room's light on a tiny space below.

And there, blinking in the sudden light, were two women huddled together. Well dressed but unkempt, the older holding the younger to her chest protectively. Fearfully.

"Sylva," Regis said. "It has been some while."

She was too astounded even to form words. But Lunafreya pulled her head away from her mother's protective grasp and looked up at them. Though the same shock crossed her face, she found her words more quickly than her mother.

"King Regis!"

"The very same."

"Is Ravus with you?"

"No. I left him safely in Lucis, which is where I hope to take both of you. Come along now. The sooner we leave this place the better. Haul them up, Cor."

At his word, Cor dropped down into the hole. It was shallow enough that his head and shoulders were above the level of the trap door while he was standing. With little trouble he managed to haul slight Lunafreya out, passing her off to Weskham. She seemed hardly larger than Reina, though she had been much taller a few years before. With the help of both Cor and Clarus, Sylva climbed out to stand beside her daughter. She shot Regis a look torn between gratitude and fear. There was a long chat to be had between them, but this was neither the time nor the place.

A slow clap sounded from behind them. Regis spun to find the empty chair by the door occupied—impossibly—by the imperial chancellor.

"Oh bravo! Well done. A daring rescue into the bowels of Fenestala Manor and here you are. I admit, you took a little longer than I had expected. And I even tried to make it easy for you, leaving the lights on and the door open, but still you bumbled through every single room in the palace. I must commend you for your thoroughness, I suppose, but you'll be making your escape by nightfall now that you've secured your prize and perhaps that was your intent all along but… it does seem a poor plan, doesn't it? The storm may be confined to Lucis, but the daemons are not."

Regis stepped in front of Sylva and Lunafreya. Clarus stepped in front of him.

Chancellor Izunia tsked. "Come now, you can't truly believe I mean to stop you, now that you've come so far. If I had wanted to prevent you from leaving this place, I certainly wouldn't have waited three hours while you opened every door and searched under every tarp."

He looked past Clarus as if he were invisible and locked eyes with Regis. "After all, I promised the princess that you would be quite safe. What sort of a man would I be to make promises to a twelve year old and then break them?"

The jibe was lost under the quiet revelation meant for Regis alone. Reina had said The Burgundy Man had told her it would be okay. Ardyn Izunia, tellingly, had a peculiar shade of hair that could only be described as burgundy.

"Do tell her I said 'hi,' won't you?"

His smile widened and the shadows around his eyes and mouth deepened until they seemed to overtake his whole face. He had sat in a darkened corner of the room before, but now the shadows seemed to reach out and wrap around him like a solid and living thing, cloaking him entirely and pulling him into darkness and obscurity. And then he was gone.


	27. Homecoming

"What the hell was that?" Clarus asked.

"No time. I want us back in Lucis three hours ago. Send word to Captain Ulric. Withdraw all Glaives." Regis pushed past the others and out into the darkened cellar. Flames leapt to his call as he swept down the winding cellar passageways, heedless of what might lay around the corner.

Izunia had spoken to Reina in dreams. He had then proceeded to appear and disappear without a trace, having apparently been aware of their every move since arriving at Fenestala. That the man was unhinged and dangerous was a well-known fact in the Lucian court. But this was more. This was not political power and honeyed words. This was dark magic of a sort no one on Eos should have possessed.

And he had his eyes on Reina.

He fumbled for his phone, still groping down poorly-lit corridors that he had only a faint recollection of traversing in the reverse direction. When he finally managed to pull his phone from his pocket, the glowing screen told him that it was just past dinner time for the twins. It also told him there was no chance of making a call from the cellar. Doubtless the forest would be little better, but Fenestala, at least…

It was the only hope he had.

They reached a three-way split in the corridor. Regis lifted his flaming hand higher, attempting to discern some difference between the directions. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Sylva slipping past him.

"This was," she said, leading to the left.

Of course. It was, after all, her home. She could lead them out more quickly than they had come in. Hopefully.

He walked beside her. Not through any misguided need to lead, nor through a desire to be near her, but out of pure practicality. He held the only light, and she was the only one who knew how to leave this maze of corridors. It was mere minutes before they had climbed the last set of stairs, leading to the main level. There they met with Ulric and a select few Glaives.

"You're safe." The poorly-concealed relief in the captain's implied he had expected otherwise.

"And successful." Regis quenched the flames in his hand and motioned to Sylva and Lunafreya.

His phone now registered reception. Poor reception, perhaps, but enough to make a call, with any luck. "Captain, I task you with getting everyone safely back to Lucis."

"And you, Sire?" He asked.

"With any luck, I will be there when you arrive. I intend to take the fast way back."

"You can't be serious," Clarus said. "Warping that distance is foolish and dangerous. What could possibly be so urgent?"

"Ardyn Izunia was a dangerous man when I believed I understood who and what he was. He has just revealed that we know nothing at all about him, save that he has the ability to walk in my daughter's dreams. And she trusts him, without knowing his identity." He swiped through his phone for the first person that came to mind.

Crea.

"I may already be too late. He clearly did not care that we were successful here. It may have been his intent all along to separate me from Reina."

He had her number dialed and the phone to his ear before Clarus could process or respond to what he had said. He held his breath. If she didn't answer, if something had happened to Reina—

" _Regis."_ Crea's voice, tinged with surprise. " _Is everything alright?"_

"I had hoped you might tell me. Is anything amiss with Reina?"

" _No, I shouldn't think so. We've just finished dinner and are moving toward getting ready for bed."_

"She isn't acting strangely?"

" _No. Regis, what is going on?"_

"I wish I knew."

He dared not feel relieved, not until he had any sort of certainty. He needed to be back in Lucis. Regis' mind spun rapidly. The last time he had warped, he had used his connection to Ulric as an anchor to the location. But every person he had shared magic with was here in Tenebrae with him.

Except Reina.

"Take Reina downstairs. The training room should suffice. I need her to stand in the center of the room with nothing—and no one—nearby. Call me when this is so." He hung up without giving her a chance to respond. He oughtn't have, and he regretted it as soon as the phone hung dead in his hand, but she would understand once he had a chance to explain things properly to her.

As if he could, when he scarcely understood them himself.

"I suppose it's no use asking you not to go," Clarus said.

"None at all."

"And taking anyone with you would also be out of the question," Clarus said.

"I daresay it would be more taxing for me, at least."

"Out of the question, then." Clarus pursed his lips and shook his head. "Very well. All I can ask is that you take no unnecessary risks in our absence. Be safe, Regis. Send word when you arrive in Lucis."

"I will. Now go. You are wasting time."

They left him standing in the empty hall. Though Clarus and the rest of his retinue went with resolve and never turned back, both Sylva and Lunafreya turned to look over their shoulders at him. They had little notion of what he meant to do and less of why. Well there was no time to explain it in, even if he had been so inclined to.

His phone rang once they were out of sight.

"Crea."

" _It's done. She's standing in the training room. I'm outside."_

"Good. I'll see you momentarily." Hopefully.

He hung up once more, tucking his phone back into his pocket and reaching out for the strands of power that tied him up to Reina. Through these, he felt a sudden surge of awareness of her. He could nearly see her standing in her pajamas in the middle of the training hall, hands clasped before her to keep them from shaking. Fearful, but whole. Her core of magic, untarnished by the physical distance between them, shone brightly. Relief poured over him. She was still whole and safe and secure. For now.

He grabbed hold of the line of magic and felt her attention shift. As he had awareness of her, so did she become aware of him. He felt her surprise, followed by an outpouring of love and welcome as she reached her magic out to him and enveloped him. Whereas before, when he had used Ulric as an anchor, his goal had been merely a point on a map, this was a rope tied between the pair of them. He could reach her. With ease.

He stepped into the In-Between and leapt for the bond, allowing her force of will to carry him across continents in an instant. Nearly too late he realized he would land directly on top of her if he did not pull back; he stepped out an instant early and stumbled directly into her, half-blinded in the darkness. They collided. With a yelp of surprise, Reina tumbled to the floor along with him. Regis retained just enough sense to roll to one side as he wrapped his arms around her so that his back hit the floor and she hit his chest, rather than the other way around.

And he lay there, dazed, staring at a black ceiling—or was it a floor?— while thunder roared outside.

"Father! Are you alright?"

He heard the sound of the training room door sliding open, but couldn't yet arrange up or down in his mind.

Crea's face appeared above Reina's in his field of vision. Except she had two heads.

"Regis? Gods! How did you even get here?"

"He warped." Reina took his hand and held it to her chest. "With royal magic. But we don't usually jump so far. Only Father and Drautos have ever done it before."

Regis blinked and shook his head to clear it. He immediately wished he hadn't, for it only multiplied the swimming dizziness.

"I'm fine," he managed. Barely. Though they seemed far from reassured by his words.

Reina smoothed his hair back from his face and kissed his forehead, still holding onto his hand.

"You'll be alright, Father," she said with the peculiar surety unique to her.

His mind was brought back to the reason he had just leapt halfway across the world.

"Reina." He struggled to sit up; Crea looked alarmed and motioned as if she would tell him to lay back down on the floor, but Reina hauled him into a sitting position with the arm she held. "The Burgundy Man. Tell me everything you know of him."

She scooted closer, lending him her balance. He took the offer gratefully as the world spun around him, freeing his hand from hers and putting it on her shoulder to steady himself instead.

"Well. I met him in the In-Between. He's there, sometimes, outside the Black River when I go to sleep. I don't suppose he is really a man, because I've only seen him in the In-Between and never in real life. Maybe he is a ghost."

"And you did not think to mention that you had seen a person in the In-Between before?" Regis asked.

"No," she said levelly. "I suppose I never thought anything was different about him. Not for a long while, anyway. I thought he might be one of yours."

"One of mine?"

"One of the people that follow you in the In-Between. The Kings."

A stunned moment passed in silence as this information sunk in. She could see the Lucii in the In-Between. And she saw them as if they followed him in some shape or form. And yet, after four years this was the first he heard of it.

"You see the Lucii." It wasn't a question. He simply felt the need to express out loud his astonishment.

"Yes, Father."

"Why have you never mentioned this before?"

"Well it seemed rather silly. Babies might stare at the Wall the first time they see it but when we learn to talk, no one tells people that they see a great big sparkling thing overhead."

A fair point. But she was spending too much time with Crea. He could hear the wry, almost exasperated note in her voice. She was too young for that. If he hadn't been so preoccupied it might have been amusing.

"So. You have seen people of varying sorts in the In-Between, and among them this Burgundy Man. What else?" Regis pressed.

"I think I realized he wasn't one of the Kings when he was there but you weren't. Sometimes I fall back into the In-Between when I go to sleep, but I never go in the Black River without you." That she felt the need to clarify spoke of her prevailing need to earn his approval. Presently, he wasn't interested in whether or not she had disobeyed his instructions. He motioned for her to continue. "I tried to speak to him, but he never replied before. Sometimes he was just always a little bit too far away to reach and even when I moved closer, the distance between us stretched. Sometimes I know he heard me, but he only smiled and went away. But last night after you left, I sat by the Black River and I thought about jumping back in because I hadn't seen what I wanted. I was so miserable and so upset that I couldn't look where I wanted to. I walked along the River for a while, thinking maybe I could see some details without ever going in, and instead I found The Burgundy Man. He was sitting by the River just waiting for me."

"Waiting for you?"

"He had a table with two chairs and a tea set and everything."

"Are you certain this was the In-Between, and not a dream of the normal sort?" Regis asked.

She seemed not to know how to answer the question. "Those are the same thing, though."

"They certainly are not."

"But they are. That's where you go when you're dreaming. And when you know you're dreaming you can make anything you want. You can make a table and chairs and a tea set, if you like."

He had nothing to say to that. Indeed, it did nothing to clarify his grasp on the situation, which seemed to be becoming more tenuous with each passing moment, but nevertheless he indicated that she should continue.

"Anyway, he invited me to sit with him, so I did. And he spoke! It was the first time he ever said anything to me. He said: 'You needn't worry, Your Highness. Your father will be just fine.' I asked him how he knew and he said that I wasn't the only one who could swim in the Black River, so of course I asked if he could teach me to see better and he said that he could."

A cold fear gripped Regis' heart. This was what he had been fearing. Excitement, joy, anticipation, and a sense of kinship all precipitated by that manipulative bastard who had sunken his venomous fangs into Tenebrae. He would not set claws into Regis' little girl.

She seemed not to notice his trepidation, for she continued without pause. "He said that he would teach me tomorrow night—tonight now—and that I should go to sleep and not dream anymore. And I did, just like he said! I didn't dream anything else and I woke up just in time because I heard footsteps in the hall so I went out and saw you before you left and. Well. I suppose you know the rest."

She smiled brightly, beaming with anticipation. For the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to return it. His sense of balance had returned, but they sat, still, on the floor of the training room while he attempted to force answers out of a tangled knot of stories. It was no use. He had no notion how Izunia had done what he had done. But it was abundantly clear that he could not be allowed to continue.

"Reina. I know you are excited to learn more, and the prospect of a teacher is a wonderful thing… but I cannot allow you to see this man again," Regis said.

Her face fell. "Why not?"

"Because he is not who you think he is. He is a very dangerous man, and I will do everything in my power to keep him as far from you as possible."

"Who is he?" She perked at the opportunity to answer a question that had plagued her for months—perhaps longer.

"I thought I knew the answer to that question before tonight. The man you know as The Burgundy Man is the same as the one I know as the Imperial Chancellor, Ardyn Izunia."

"Imperial…?" The surprise on her face was clear, though it was followed quickly by confusion. "But only ghosts and Caelums walk in the In-Between."

"And yet all I can tell you is that he is no Lucii, nor ghost." Was he a man? After tonight, Regis was unable to answer that question either.

"He seemed very nice," Reina said.

And Regis had been worried about her being manipulated by the court. He had not thought she would have to contend with this from two sides at once—the In-Between seemed the last place she would need to hold her barriers against snakes.

"He is very clever," Regis said. "That is not the same thing as kind. This is a distinction you must learn to make."

"Like Master Hamon," she said.

"Yes… who told you that?" Regis asked.

"Crowe," she said simply. "She said he's not a nice person." She laughed. "Actually, what she said was much more rude."

He could only imagine. And yet, more important was the revelation that Reina's Kingsglaive guard was doing precisely what she was meant to be doing.

"Crowe has a sharp eye. That is why I wished for her to watch over you."

If only she could have guarded Reina in the In-Between.

And yet Izunia was a complete unknown. Regis could warn Reina off from him, and perhaps that would keep her from listening to his honeyed words for a time, but until they knew more, Regis would have her kept from him entirely. This man could walk in dreams and disappear before their very eyes in the physical world.

"In any case, I mean to prevent him from reaching you entirely," Regis said. "To that end—and I apologize, my dear—I must shield you entirely from the In-Between."

Her eyes widened. "But I won't be able to dream or look ahead or anything!"

"I know. And you must trust me on this matter, my dear. This man is very dangerous and I know too little about him. I fear what plans he has in store for you and I would prefer never to learn what they entail. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father…" She said, though she sounded as if she would have preferred not to.

To learn that one she had looked to for knowledge and guidance was truly a snake…

Regis wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her sideways. "I know you are hurt and disappointed, my dear. I wish I did not have to protect you from this, but I must. When I know more, we will arrange less drastic measures."

She nodded and rubbed at her eyes. Regis reached out to her with his magic and, once more, as he had done when she was much younger and still healing from a traumatic Dream, he bound her up in place, preventing her from leaving her center. This time he made certain that every last tendril of her magic was tucked away inside before he built a wall around her to keep Izunia out. He tested the strength of it from the outside, adjusted, and re-tested until he was satisfied that even the Draconian would struggle to break through the barrier Regis had erected around her.

The show of magic so soon after warping across the sea, however, left him staggering once he finally stumbled to his feet. Reina and Crea both lurched forward to lend their support. He held to each of them as his vision blackened around the edges and threatened to vanish altogether.

"Regis. You need to sit down." He could scarcely hear Crea's voice over the pounding in his ears.

"You're very tired, Father. I can lend you some energy…"

Not even the barriers he had built around her blocked their awareness of each other. Through those bonds he felt a push and a pull and an offering up of strength. Reina's shining well of life overflowed with it. And though he wished little more than to quench his thirst for energy without needing to rest, he recognized her offer for what it was.

"No, my dear." He pushed her away, gently by firmly. Crea resettled her hold on him and his vision cleared, bit by bit. Reina stood before him, perplexed. She had no notion.

"Listen to me, Reina, for this is most important. You have two pools of power within you: your mana, which fuels your magic and allows you to connect with the In Between, and your lifeblood, which you have offered me. This is what keeps your heart beating and your lungs breathing. It is meant to last you a lifetime, and though it may wax and wane with health and fatigue, it is not largely replenish-able. Not to the same degree mana is. Though you may have bonds strong enough to share these pools with myself and with Noctis, you must never give your lifeblood away. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "And my mana?"

"That will come back to you more easily when spent."

"Then I can share with you."

Again he felt the tug along their bond and a new offer was made.

"It is not necessary, my dear. I will be quite alright."

She withdrew her offer, though only reluctantly, unconvinced by his show of strength. He could not well bind himself so tightly to her and still maintain pretense that he was an endless supply of strength and power. She knew too well that was not true.

In any case, it was the price he would have to pay for keeping her safe from Ardyn. He gave her a tight smile and a kiss on the forehead. It would do. It would have to do. In the meantime, he had a snake to find.


	28. Knots

It was just past nine, though it seemed it should have been the middle of the night. Regis tucked Reina and Noctis into their respective beds, intending to stay at least until they fell asleep and perhaps longer. Before he had so much as sat down, however, his phone rang. Clarus. Checking in on him, as he always did.

He made his excuses and stepped away from his children to take the call. The call he should have made himself. But other matters had distracted him and still held his attention. He assured Clarus that he was hale and whole, but begged off a full appraisal of the situation until they could speak face to face. That would be several hours yet—likely not until past morning. Much as Regis wished to have a second opinion on what he had heard from Reina, he was loath to leave her unsupervised. If Ardyn Izunia could walk into a guarded room and sit down quietly while their attention was elsewhere, if he could vanish into darkness and shadows before their very eyes, what was to stop him from appearing in Reina and Noctis' room? Regis had blocked her Dreams, yes, but somehow that gave him only thin comfort. The man would find another way to get what he wanted. Somehow.

So, once Regis was through with Clarus on the phone, he returned to his children's bedside, pulling up a chair in his usual spot and sitting in the corner between their beds. Reina opened her eyes to peer at him through the dim glow of their starry night light, but he held a finger to his lips and silenced any words she might have. She snuggled deeper amongst her blankets, holding Chika tight against her chest, and shut her eyes with a smile. Simply knowing he was watching over her in the night brought her such satisfaction. If only it could have brought him the same.

As it were, his mind was a boiling stew of worries and confusion. Though their mission to Tenebrae was all but concluded successfully, he felt no contentment at this victory. It had been granted them. The chancellor had made that much clear with his cryptic words. They were no closer to learning what he wanted or why. Indeed, this choice threw every hypothesis out the window. By surrendering their hostages without cause, Niflheim gave up all leverage they held over Lucis and their spy within. Ravus would no longer report on the inner workings of the court—for whatever good that had done them—and they held no chain to pull with regard to this arranged wedding, though it was anyone's guess why they had wanted it in the first place.

The only explanation that presented itself was that none of this benefited Niflheim at all, and therefore it must not have been Niflheim that had made the choice to release Sylva and Lunafreya. It could only have been the chancellor acting alone. And why? Regis had once compared him to Hamon and again the analogy seemed apt. If he had no particular allegiance to Niflheim, but instead pursued his own agenda, these events made moderately more sense. They still had no notion what he wanted, but that he gained something by releasing Sylva and Lunafreya must have been true. So what had he gained?

Regis' attention, for one thing. He had clearly revealed himself, calling attention to the connection between him and Reina in a way that was almost a threat. Had he wanted to simply snare her, he might already have done so. Instead he had given Regis the opportunity to lock her away safely. Why? Had he simply underestimated Regis, expecting that he would not make it back to Lucis in time to safeguard her? Or something else entirely?

It was no use. All he gained from this speculation was a headache and an awareness of how very long this day had been. The clock on the wall told him it neared midnight now, yet he could not allow himself to sleep. He fixed his awareness, instead, on Reina. She slept peacefully with no indication of dreaming or attempting to sneak out from behind his walls. Did Izunia wait for her alongside the Black River? He had no way of knowing.

The light in the room brightened as the hall door opened a few inches further. Regis spun, hand nearly on the hilt of his sword before he stopped himself. Crea. It was only Crea. Had he really expected the chancellor?

"I thought I might find you here," she whispered.

"And why is that?"

"You always come to sit with them when anything is troubling you."

And he always had, for twelve too-short years. Though in the first years, it had mostly been thoughts of Aulea that had driven him to seek refuge in the nursery among his twins and Crea. Though he had little realized it then, Crea had always offered some measure of comfort to him as well, whether by words or presence.

"Can I offer you a cup of tea, if you're going to sit up all night?"

Regis shook his head, staring at Reina's sleeping form. "I dare not take my eyes off them."

A pause. Crea had come to stand quite close to his chair. Near enough that he could smell the scent of her lotion and shampoo. Near enough that he remembered the night not so long ago, just outside in the hall, when he had been granted one tantalizing kiss. One kiss in eight years. He nearly did take his eyes off Reina.

"Is she in danger?" Crea asked.

He could only shake his head again. "I know not. Which makes it all the more unbearable."

That she wanted to know more was clear enough from her silence. As was the fact that this was a poor place for a conversation. Perhaps later he would find time to tell her the tale. It was always later with him.

At length she grew tired of waiting for answers and left without a word. He fought the urge to turn and watch her go or, worse yet, stop her from doing so. It was the middle of the night. She needed to be abed. He only wished he had something else to say to her. Or some place to say it in.

Ten minutes later she was back, against his expectations. She handed him a steaming mug of tea with a cute chocobo floating in it. Before he had properly registered what was happening, she had pulled up a second chair beside his and folded herself into it. He did tear his eyes from Reina, then. When he looked, she gave him a smile over the top of her own tea and laid her hand over his.

Her touch alone sent chills running up and down Regis' spine. He turned his hand and enclosed hers, holding on as tightly as if she were his only anchor in this storm. Sometimes she felt like it. She squeezed his hand in return and allowed him to crush her fingers as tightly as he pleased. It was the only show of weakness he allowed himself.

The night passed in silence, save for the ubiquitous sound of the storm outside: the sheets of rain that pounded against the glass and the shattering sounds of thunder. Against his will, Regis found his mind wandering to the brief respite on the ocean, less than twenty four hours before. He missed the dawn all the more for having seen it once. If only they could have fled from this dreary place into drier, brighter lands. Just the four of them, for once.

By the time the sky outside paled in what passed for dawn these days, Crea had fallen asleep curled up in her chair. She had leaned close enough to him that her head rested on his shoulder. He dared not move, for fear of disturbing her. Or for fear of reminding himself how near the line they walked was growing once more.

Before the twins had stirred, footsteps sounded outside the door. They sat with their backs to the hall, sheltered in their own private world by the tall-backed chairs. But not for long. Someone would come looking for him and would find him here, with the woman who was meant to be nothing more than a nanny to him.

"Crea," Regis murmured.

The footsteps passed by the door, but stopped not far down the hall. A knock sounded on his own door.

"I need you to wake up, Crea." He touched her cheek lightly. Her skin was soft and warm. Against his better judgement he caressed her skin, intoxicated by her nearness.

She stirred, tensing beside him with a sound of objection. "What'sa matter?"

For a moment he forgot why he had woken her. He was only aware that he could so easily have stolen a kiss while they sat sheltered in this fragile bubble of solitude. And then he would have wished for another. And another.

The knock on his door sounded again.

"Your Majesty?" Avunculus called from down the hall. "The team from Tenebrae has returned."

And the outside world came back to him.

"My duty summons me forth," Regis said.

She blinked twice and sat up with an effort. Her hair had come free from its bun and hung in tangled locks around her face and shoulders. She yawned and stretched.

"What about Reina?" She asked.

Reina and Noctis both slept on, blissfully unaware of the vigil their father had kept for them. On the surface and underneath, nothing was changed. Regis' walls remained intact. They had not even been tested in the night. That was some clue, but he was too tired to think what it meant for now.

"She seems unharmed," Regis said. "Wake her, all the same. For reasons that have very little to do with logic, I fear to allow her to sleep beyond my watch."

"You're going to have to sleep some time, you know."

"When I die, likely." Then he might have time for it.

She gave him a flatly unamused look. Down the hall, Avun opened the doors to his rooms and called out again.

"You'd better go. I'll wake Reina." Crea stood and stretched. She stepped past him and laid a hand on Reina's shoulder to gently rouse her.

Reluctant as he was to pull away from his family, he did. The others would be waiting. And Avun was liable to send the whole Crownsguard out looking for him if he couldn't be found in his rooms. It was best to avoid all that.

He straightened his suit, aware that he had been wearing it for more than a full day, by now, and that it was more than a little of both stale and wrinkled. Never mind that now. He stepped into the hall and called out for his attendant.

"I am here, Avun."

"Oh, Your Majesty! Thank the Astrals—"

Regis lifted a hand to stem the flow of relief. "The others are waiting downstairs?"

"They are, Sire. In the drawing room."

Not all of them, he hoped, given that some three dozen Kingsglaives had gone to Tenebrae with them.

"Summon Prince Ravus to the drawing room. I will go at once," Regis said.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

It promised to be an emotional day, between reunions, questionable escapes, and all. It also promised to be an exhausting one. Perhaps some had managed a few hours rest on the boat, but he doubted it very much. His retinue were not ones to let down their guard while surrounded by unanswered questions.

As Avun had indicated, he found the others awaiting him in the drawing room below. Or some of them, at least. The vast majority of the Kingsglaive had been dismissed, as was for the best, and returned to their own headquarters. Of the Glaive, only Captain Ulric remained. He rose and bowed when Regis entered the room. The others were less wont to stand on ceremony: Clarus scooped him up into a bone-crushing bear hug, Cid shook his head, Wes laughed, and Cor stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Lunafreya sat tucked in an armchair, which looked much too large for her. Sylva stood beside it, and though she offered a curtsey at Regis' entrance, she seemed at a loss for what to do with herself. She would be. Likely she had no more answers than they had, and it had been a confusing twenty-four hours. For everyone.

"How fares Her Highness?" Weskham asked, once Clarus had released Regis.

"Fine, as far as my senses can discern," Regis said.

"You suspect otherwise?" Clarus asked.

Regis shook his head. "I know not what I expect. Everything we have ever known of Niflheim seems to have been proven wrong in the past twenty four hours. Who is this man Ardyn Izunia? Truly? Or shall I say _what_ is he?"

"'What' seems apt," Clarus said darkly.

When a knock sounded to the door, he was spared dwelling on troubling thoughts for a moment longer at least.

"Prince Ravus Nox Fleuret," the Crownsguard at the door announced, opening the doors wide for him.

Lunafreya leapt to her feet. They hardly saw Ravus before she had flung herself into his arms. He caught her neatly, dropping to his knees and enveloping her in his arms.

"Ravus." Her voice was muffled against his chest. Four years might have added to her dignity, but not when she was so relieved to be reunited with her brother. "You're safe!"

"As are you." He kissed her hair and held her all the more tightly.

"Thank the Gods," said Sylva, who had not moved from her place by Luna's chair, though she had made a motion as if to do so and stopped herself.

"No." Ravus looked up at her, then turned his gaze on Regis. "Thank King Regis. For he is the one who kept me safe and rescued you from Niflheim's clutches. Not the Gods."

"Ravus," Sylva chided. "You will not blaspheme in the house of Lucis."

"Blaspheme all you want," Regis said darkly. "I certainly have."

He glanced out the window at the angry storm. And people were paying for it across his kingdom, but he could not turn away from this path. He would not.

He looked back to Sylva. "This is my castle, Sylva. Not yours. And some days I wonder if Ravus isn't nearer to my son than yours."

Sylva looked as if he had struck her. Even Lunafreya looked between Regis, Sylva, and Ravus, as if he had snatched up something that belonged to her from beneath her nose. But Ravus rose to his full height, releasing all but Lunafreya's hands, and something of a smile settled onto his lips.

"In a few weeks, I suppose he will be," Regis said.

"You don't intend to call it off?" Ravus asked.

"Why should I?"

"I only thought… since my mother and sister are here, you have no reason to do as Niflheim wishes…"

"No, I do not," Regis agreed. "But I do have reason to do as my daughter wishes. Perhaps this is a conversation we should have more privately, but provided that you have no objections to going through with the betrothal, I see no reason to call it off."

A mixture of emotions fought across his face. Perhaps it was cruel of Regis to throw him into this situation, but unexpected developments were often the best way to learn what was truly in a man's heart. Foremost on Ravus' face was surprise. That was to be expected. And though others fought for control—fear, trepidation, nervousness—there was joy and gratitude as well. In the end, that won out.

"Of course I have no objections! Niflheim notwithstanding, I should be honored to have such a match." A blush flashed hot across his cheeks, and for the first time since his arrival, Regis had the sense that he did see in Reina more than a little sister. She was growing up quickly. In both their eyes, it would seem, albeit in different ways.

"Ravus, you cannot be serious," Sylva said. "Princess Reina is much too young for you. I'm astounded that Regis would even consider such a match. She is barely a child and you are nearly a man."

That the description nettled him was clear enough. To his credit he did not rise to the bait, instead focusing on Reina.

"She is young, Mother. That much is true. But you have not seen her in four years and hardly even then. She has never been a child. She has always been far older than her years, and only now she begins to grow into it. I have no doubt you will be convinced of this when you see her with your own eyes. And if not…" He glanced toward Regis, as if seeking assurance. Whatever he searched for he must have found, for he added, "And if not, it doesn't matter. The decision has been made, and it doesn't concern you."

Only decades of control gave Regis the willpower he required not to smile. First at Ravus' show of will against his mother, and second at Sylva utter shock. He did permit himself a minuscule nod of approval when Ravus met his gaze. It was enough.

"I will gladly be engaged to Princess Reina, as planned," Ravus said.

A knock sounded on the door once more. This time Avunculus entered. "Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty, but Miss Crea suggested that caffeine might be welcome this morning?"

At the word 'caffeine,' Clarus perked up and peered around the door. Avunculus stepped aside and motioned to the servants behind him, who bore trays of tea and coffee.

"Most welcome, thank you, Avun," Regis said. "And you may pass our thanks to Crea."

No sooner had the servants set the trays down that Clarus was filling a cup of espresso to the brim. "Bless that woman. And here I thought her expertise was focused on your children."

"She is uncommonly insightful." Weskham helped himself to the espresso, once Clarus had stepped aside. "A singular woman in all regards."

"Like you, Wes?" Cor growled. "Reading people's minds by looking at them? You'd make a great couple."

Weskham looked at Regis, who avoided his gaze. "I'm afraid that's out of the question. Even if I was of a mind to, she's got her heart set. It isn't going anywhere."

So she had told him when Weskham had returned. So she had promised him in a quiet hallway with a kiss on the cheek.

Regis accepted a cup of tea from Weskham and took a seat in the farther armchair from Sylva. "Enough. This is not a topic for casual discussion."

Ravus was looking around the room with the shock of revelation on his face. Lunafreya and Sylva, at least, were far enough removed from Regis' court to have no notion of what they were talking about. He hoped to keep it that way. Sylva had passed judgement already on enough things in his life. Gods forbid he give her more fodder.

And yet, once they had been friends.

He met her gaze across the drawing room. It was only now he noticed that she watched him with pleading in her eyes. They had been friends for much longer than they had been enemies. If that was what this was. Certainly, they were at odds. Had her new experiences at Niflheim's hands given her new insight into the world? Would she look at the storm that plagued Lucis and say it was the will of the Gods, that he should fall into line as the Draconian wished? Would she refuse to treat the plague that spread among the Outlands because it was the Astrals' punishment for his disobedience?

So many matters to be settled between them. Yet this was neither the time nor the place.

"Clarus," Regis said. "Report. I would know everything that occurred after my departure."

There was, as it turned out, little to report. The night had been quiet. They had sighted daemons in the forest, as they were wont to these days, but nothing to present difficulty to three dozen Kingsglaives. They had reached the boat without much incident and returned to the storm clouds of Lucis, seeing nothing more of the imperial chancellor along the way.

So he had vanished without a trace. And they were no nearer to learning his true purpose.

"Can any of you shed light on this man?" Regis asked, turning his gaze toward the Nox Fleurets, who had notably sat close together, save Ravus who sat apart from them on a sofa nearer to Regis than Sylva.

"Until two days ago, we believed the same as you," Sylva said. "That the imperial chancellor worked beneath the emperor and had taken over Tenebrae to give them leverage over Lucis."

"What changed?" Regis asked.

"You witnessed yourself. He emptied the castle from top to bottom. Our staff and guards were thrown out. Even the imperials cleared away from Fenestala. We were led through our own empty halls by a handful of Magitek soldiers to the cellar—where you found us. The chancellor instructed them to close us down there, but he told them not to lock the doors. He said you would be coming for us and that there was no point barring the way with lock and key."

"And yet he led us on a wild goose chase, nevertheless," Clarus said. "If he meant to hand you over, why would he do that?"

"I'm only guessing," Ravus said, "But if I know anything of the imperial chancellor, it is that he likes his games. He likely thought it great fun to watch you search the empty castle from top to bottom before finding anyone at all."

"He wasn't even there," Cor said.

"He must have been, in some fashion," Regis said. "Else he wouldn't have known when to appear. Or are you suggesting that he had been in that room all along, and that we simply missed him when searching?"

Cor shook his head. "That's above my pay grade."

"Indeed," Regis said. If only he could use such a convenient excuse to stop worrying about things.

"Forgive the question, Lady Oracle," Weskham said, "But did you witness any unnatural behavior from the chancellor before last night?"

"If you mean 'unnatural' in the way of 'inhuman,' then no, I don't believe we did. He is a disturbed man, that much is clear in the way he acts. But before today—pardon, last night—I never had cause to suspect he might be anything besides that."

"You say 'inhuman' and imply he might be something besides a man," Weskham said, "What else would he be?"

Sylva caught Regis' eye across the room. They were miles apart and yet somehow on the same wavelength in this respect. He couldn't convince her that children weren't to be used or discarded, but both their minds had come to the same place on the question of Ardyn Izunia.

"A daemon," Regis said. Sylva nodded.

"We have watched him manipulate darkness and disappear as daemons are wont to do," he continued. "Before yesterday, the thought never would have crossed my mind. But in light of unanswered questions, we must search in unlikely places."

"Is that even possible?" Cor asked. "Daemons are mindless beasts. It might be a stretch to say Izunia retains his sanity, but he's certainly clever. A daemon doesn't scheme."

"Don't be too sure about that, boy," Cid said. "You ain't seen what the Starscourge does to folks. Strips 'em apart from the inside, sure. Makes 'em do things they'd never even think about in nightmares. But their brain's still alive behind those dead eyes."

He spoke as one from experience. And as the only person to have lived outside the Wall in the last thirty years, while the Starscourge was becoming an ever more prevalent problem, he was probably the only one among them to have such experience. A disturbing thought. One which Regis would have preferred not to explore. Nevertheless, it seemed their only avenue.

"Are you implying that the chancellor might have the scourge?" Regis asked.

Cid shrugged. "Possible."

Regis looked again to Sylva. She had spent months living under his rule and many more than that treating the sick and corrupted. If anyone could draw a parallel between the two, it was her.

She shook her head slowly. "I do not think the chancellor is ill. There is a dulling of senses that occurs along with the corruption, which he has never displayed. But your suggestion has merit. Though I gave it little thought before now, the feel of him is wrong. I know not how, but I suspect it is dangerous."

"I believe this goes well beyond ill," Regis said. "We have already established he seems as much daemon as he does man. If Starscourge corruption plays a part in his tale, it has already reached the end stages of corruption."

"But that's impossible," Sylva objected. "He is so outwardly human. No one could retain so much of themselves so late in the throes of the scourge."

"Unless he had untold powers to begin with," Regis said. "Caelum magic grants immunity to the scourge. Why? Presumably because we hold some sway over it, at least within our own bodies, even if we cannot banish it from others. What if a man gifted with some sort of magic was somehow infected with the scourge? He would be unable to cleanse it from his own body, but still hold enough sway over the corruption to prevent himself from being lost to it."

"Are you suggesting that Izunia holds Caelum magic?" Clarus asked.

"He holds some magic," Regis said, "We know this. If it were of the Oracle line, he would be able to cleanse the scourge. Unless there are other gifted bloodlines on Eos, I see no other options. We know nothing of this man or his origins. Is it so impossible that he is of royal blood?"

They had scraped dozens of distant royals from Lucis alone—and dozens more had been cast out for disloyalty. Was it so unreasonable that one royal had reached Niflheim?

"The magic you speak of comes from the scourge," Sylva said. "It is not true magic, but darkness."

"No," Regis said. "I do not mean his display from yesterday."

He looked to Clarus. Of those assembled, only he and Cor were intimately acquainted with Reina's magic. Weskham and Cid had both been away too long. Though they had heard of it since returning, it was but a distant tale to them. A little girl who could dream the future. Preposterous.

On the other hand, Regis had intentionally withheld the information from the Nox Fleurets for various reasons. Ravus because he was in the hands of the empire and they could not afford this gift reaching Niflheim's ears. That point seemed insignificant now. Not only was the imperial leverage against Ravus all used up, Izunia already knew their secret. As for Sylva, Regis had shared his suspicions about Reina's magic with her. Once. And in return he had received Sylva's belief that it was all wishful thinking and that Reina, as the second child, could never amount to anything of importance.

Well. It had saved her life and her kingdom. Perhaps that mattered little to her in the grand scheme of the prophecy. But it had saved countless other lives as well and Regis had every confidence that it would save Noctis' and dispel the ridiculous prophecy of the gods.

"I know for certain that he walks in the In-Between. For he has approached Reina while she dreamed and promised to teach her more of her unusual magic. As you can imagine, she was very tempted by this offer. I believe I have managed to prevent any further contact for the moment. But the fact remains that this is not a task any simple man could accomplish. And it is also the case that, if not Niflheim, at least Ardyn Izunia knows of Reina's magic."

"What magic?" Ravus asked.

"The ability to see the future," Regis said.

This revelation produced a stunned silence from the Nox Fleurets. Sylva looked away, as one who wishes not to be associated with a madman and his embarrassing ideas. Ravus looked merely perplexed. But it was Lunafreya who broke the silence.

"But that's impossible," she said. "Forgive me, King Regis, but only Oracles are gifted with foresight and even then only when the Astrals grant us a glimpse of their plans, so that we might better guide mankind."

"I suspect that what the Astrals feed you is precisely what they wish you to see and nothing more. My daughter, on the other hand, sees the future, in all its depth, precisely as it may occur. If you wish for proof that her Dreams are true, you need look no farther than this room. That we are all sitting here is possible only because she Dreamed of Magitek soldiers falling from the sky in Tenebrae four years ago, and so we fled, leaving you warning that the empire was coming. As soon as we were gone, her nightmares ceased… and the empire arrived in Tenebrae, did it not?"

Lunafreya, having no answer for this, looked to the one source of authority in her life. Her mother. Sylva lifted her eyes to meet Regis', though only reluctantly.

"We spoke of this before, Regis," she said slowly, as one who speaks to an unreasonable child.

"And if the fact that you are alive is not proof enough that I was correct, then I have many other instances where many other lives have been saved on nothing but Reina's Dreams. But it is not my task to convince an indoctrinated cultist that the titans she still worships are false prophets and no less manipulative or evil than the empire. I did not bring you here to discuss the reality of my daughter's magic with you. Nor will I stand for your condescending platitudes. You stand in Lucis by my grace. Mind you keep a civil tongue in your head, lest I change my mind."

Again, silence fell. Regis was aware he had lost his temper at her once more, but had no inclination to make amends. How dare she come into his home and tell him that the girl who had saved her life was merely a figment of his imagination.

Ravus cleared his throat and shifted along the sofa, distancing himself further from his mother. "I have a question, if I may, King Regis."

Regis indicated that he might.

"If Princess Reina can see the future, why did she not tell me my family would be alright?"

"She tried," Regis said. "She knew you worried for them and wished to Dream their fate to set your mind at ease. But she does not have full control over this sight, and she struggles to see clearly anything that does not directly affect her. She could not find a moment in time to look at that would tell her definitively if your family would be alright. But aside from that, she acted under strict orders from me not to breathe a word of her magic to you. Forgive me, Prince Ravus, but I dared no whisper of her gift reach the empire."

"That would be deadly indeed," Ravus admitted. "But they know it now, don't they?"

"I have no notion," Regis said. "The chancellor's actions seem not to benefit the empire. It is not so far fetched to suspect he now acts independently. Nevertheless, we must be cautious."

"Regardless of whether or not they know, the chancellor seems a greater threat," Clarus said. "Niflheim cannot very well walk into Lucis and threaten the princess. If they could, we would have greater problems than whether or not they know of her magic. The chancellor, however, seems able to walk where he wishes. Her dreams included."

And so they had come full circle to Regis' deepest worries. Had anything been decided? He couldn't recall. And his tea was empty.


	29. Burned Bridges

In the end, they all accepted that no more progress would be made that morning. Not while they all ran on a sleepless night with so much still to be done in the day. Their makeshift council adjourned, each going their separate ways. Guest quarters were arranged for Sylva and Lunafreya, and they retired while everyone else left to attend to their various duties. Ravus took to Regis' side, stating a desire to speak with Reina.

While they walked, he spoke.

"I wished to apologize for my behavior, when last we spoke," Ravus said. "It was unworthy of me. You have done a great deal for my family already and I cannot begin to thank you for rescuing my mother and sister."

"Apology accepted," Regis said. "You need not thank me, in any case."

In truth, amidst all the other occurrences in Lucis and Tenebrae, he had all but forgotten that Ravus had spoken out of turn before.

"Well thank you for standing for me," Ravus said, "Against my mother."

"It seems there are few places I can put my feet that do not include standing against your mother," Regis said.

"I know what you mean." Ravus gave him a wry smile. "I'm glad they are both safe, and I'm pleased to see my sister again. But now I can't help but remember years in Fenestala spent avoiding her path and attempting to anticipate her whim outside of her sight so that she couldn't take issue with my existence. I'm only now realizing how peaceful it has been in Insomnia without her."

Regis laid a hand on his shoulder, suppressing a grimace. "I cannot very well send her back. But know that you are in my home, not hers. And I am thankful for your presence here. You bring depth to my family and joy to my Reina. We would no longer have it any other way."

He was rewarded with a true smile from Ravus. After that, they walked along in silence for a time, coming to reach the upper levels together, with no unneeded words passing between them. By then, the upper levels were awake with budding morning energy, despite the fact that lights were lit to make it seem day at all. Noctis was sitting in the lounge, waiting to go down for breakfast, and chatting with Ignis. Or, more accurately, Ignis was chatting to him while Noctis nodded along in silence. This tended to be how conversations with Noctis went. Crea sat nearby, dressed for a day of court and formality, but Reina was nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning, my son." Regis laid a hand on his head and ruffled Noctis' hair before recalling this was now unacceptable behavior for a growing prince. Noctis ducked away, making a sound of objection.

"Morning, Dad," he grumbled. "Morning, Ravus."

"Reina is not up?" Regis asked.

"She's getting dressed," Crea said.

"She takes _forever_ ," said Noctis.

Crea didn't both to hide her amusement. "Every bit a princess, I'm afraid. She's going to have to wake up earlier if she wants to spend so much time on her appearance in the mornings."

And to think that not so long ago, they had simply gone to breakfast in their pajamas and Reina had never thought a thing of it.

"Well it wouldn't take so long if someone would help me." Reina appeared in the doorway to the bedroom she shared with Noctis. Behind her came her shadow, Crowe. Reina was dressed, as was quickly becoming tradition for her, in a new dress, cut of flowing blue fabric that somehow made her look much older than twelve. Ethereal was the word. Her hair was pulled up pinned in a crown of braids. And unless he was very much mistaken, she was wearing a touch of color on her lips.

Regis was suddenly quite thankful that Noctis had no inclination to wear makeup. He never had to face the line between child—who did not wear makeup—and adult—who did—so clearly for Noctis. Yet here he was, facing it all the same.

"I'm not helping," Noctis said.

"Good," Reina said. "I don't want your help anyway. You'd probably set my hair on fire. Good morning, Father."

Her eyes came to land on him and he smiled in spite of himself. Until then, he hadn't realized a distinction had been drawn in his mind between princess and Princess. Reina was, and always would be, his little princess. The little girl who wore cute dresses and carried around a stuffed chocobo. The little girl who attended council meetings and court, but always sat on her father's lap and often fell asleep. But somewhere, between learning to Dream and striving to learn responsibility so she could be permitted back into those same meetings, between crushes and her very own retinue, she had become Princess Reina: the young woman who was learning the ins and outs of court and council, who had a Kingsglaive bodyguard, and who saw _everything_ , even if she didn't know how to interpret it yet. And when her gaze landed on him, something like soft regret passed over her face.

"You didn't sleep," she said. It wasn't a question, as such.

Regis could only grimace, though he made an effort to transform it into a smile. "No, my dear. Pressing matters required that I remain awake."

"The Burgundy Man?"

"Quite so."

"I see." She looked as if she wished to say more, but took issue either with the time or the place or the company. Instead she tore her eyes away and looked to Ravus. Her smile blossomed brightly once more. She gave him a curtsey, as was proper. "Good Morning, Prince Ravus."

Ravus bowed in return. "Good Morning, Princess Reina."

Amidst their reunion, Regis recalled that he had not yet arranged one for Noctis and Lunafreya. It would have to be remedied. And soon, but not immediately. Lunafreya's night had doubtless been little more restful than Regis'. Eager as they must have been to see each other again, some sleep was in order first.

If only Regis could have said the same for his future.

Instead he stumbled downstairs with his family for breakfast, as thus far his meals for the day had included tea and little else. Ravus and Ignis both joined them. Crowe followed as far as the dining room and stood by the door at parade rest, somehow managing to stare dead ahead and still keep the princess as the focus of her sights. Regis was reminded of Cor. If Reina had in Crowe even a fraction of the loyalty and dedication that Cor possessed, she would be blessed indeed. And he could breathe a little more easily.

Breakfast was a cheerful affair, made electric by the fresh energy that bounced between Reina and Ravus. Noctis, once told that he would soon be seeing Lunafreya, was in similarly high spirits and a glimpse of his old self could be seen behind the quiet boy he had since become. Only Ignis appeared reserved. When Regis fell to observing him, he found that Ignis' eyes strayed more often than not toward Reina.

He knew jealousy well enough to recognize it on the face of another.

Oh dear. And she had no notion. She had turned her eyes elsewhere, falling into a new crush—which had become thrilling with the promise of an engagement—and Ignis had been left standing behind. Regis had no remedy for that. She was young, yet, and an engagement could still be broken off if, indeed, she came to realize that Ravus was not her heart's desire once she had grown into herself. But for now it was little surprise that Ravus had turned her head. Ignis would doubtless grow into a handsome young man one day, but for now he was still caught awkwardly in adolescence. And Ravus had come out the other side with the confidence and command of a prince.

It was a tiny note of discord in their otherwise lovely morning. And it was not a problem that could be solved, for all that Regis was accustomed to fitting solutions into troubles. This was the sort that required acceptance.

After breakfast they returned together upstairs and went their separate ways: Noctis and Ignis to find some distraction until such a time as Lunafreya was ready to receive visitors, Reina and Crowe to see to ceremony preparations—or rather, Reina to see to preparations and Crowe to see to Reina—and Ravus to check in with the Crownsguard for morning training. Regis was left alone with his troubles. And Crea, who might well have been counted among them.

He avoided her by pacing the halls, letting his feet move while thoughts of the imperial chancellor, whoever he truly was, worked through his mind. It was the best way he had found to think. This morning it seemed to do nothing. His mind was a buzzing blank of worries and apprehensions. He found himself dwelling on Reina and wondering if he oughtn't let her wander the Citadel at all. Could Crowe handle herself, if Izunia found some way to walk through shadows into the castle?

"Are you afraid that if you sit down, you'll fall asleep?"

Crea's voice broke him from confused and agitated thoughts. Regis stopped and turned to look at her; she was sitting in the main lounge with a book open in her hands. Now that he thought on it, he realized he had passed by her several times and, furthermore, that she had been watching him rather than her book. But she had interrupted his thoughts and now he couldn't recall what they had been at all.

Regis cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. What was the question?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "Do you think that if you sit down, you'll fall asleep?"

"I hadn't given it much thought before." But now that he did, he suspected she was right. The tea from that morning would only carry him so far.

"You could get some rest, you know," she said more gently. "Reina's awake. She's being looked after. Is there anything you can't do later, after you've had a chance to close your eyes?"

"There is doubtless something." He just couldn't think what that might be, at the moment.

The exasperated look came again. "Go to bed, Regis."

"I doubt I could sleep. Not in any restful fashion."

She sighed. "Must you make this so difficult? At least go have a bath and a change of clothes. I know you hate wearing the same suit two days in a row. You might as well look like you didn't stay up all night."

That seemed a reasonable enough suggestion, and one he could not find issue with. A bath and a change of clothes sounded refreshing. Perhaps he would feel less dead on his feet afterward. He went. Avun drew a bath for him and helped him out of his wrinkled suit. Once he had sunken neck-deep into the hot water, which pounded and soothed against muscles he hadn't even realized were sore, he began to have an inkling of Crea's plan.

"Avun."

Avunculus paused in his work of gathering up the laundry. "Sire?"

"Will you please tell Crea that she is a terrible person and I will never forgive her?"

To his credit, he didn't even look perplexed. "As you wish, Sire."

"Very good. Then you may go. I do not expect I shall have need of you for several hours."

With Avun gone, Regis leaned back in his bath and shut his eyes. He only dwelled on what a wicked person Crea was for a few moments before falling fast asleep.

When he woke, the water was lukewarm and there were voices drifting in from the hall. That he could hear them at all meant whatever discussion happening was heated, and yet he struggled to find the will to get out of the cold tub and return to whatever duty called. No one had knocked on his door, after all. If it was relevant to him, surely someone would have. And yet, raised voices in the hall outside his room were usually important.

He rose, albeit reluctantly. A rebellious part of him wished to quell whatever argument was happening by appearing in only a bath towel, but dignity won the argument and he dried off and took the time to change into a fresh suit. Once his hair was combed and his crown was in place, he stepped out into the hall and nearly ran into Crea. She stood with her back nearly against his door, facing Sylva and flanked by two highly uncomfortable Crownsguards. This he observed in the split second before his appearance provoked a reaction from both women.

"Regis!" Sylva said. "At last."

Crea spun. Where Sylva's face held satisfaction, hers was the picture of chagrin.

"Regis! I'm so sorry. I hope we didn't wake you."

"No. I suspect the cold water did that," he said. "Sylva, I believe I have made it clear that only my friends may call me Regis."

Petty, but he took some satisfaction at watching the shock and embarrassment cross her features. She glanced from Crea to him before bowing.

"I apologize, Your Majesty."

Now that the last vestiges of sleep were fading from his mind, he found himself wondering how she had even reached the upper levels, let alone found herself right outside the door to his chambers.

"Now," Regis said. "I gather my presence was sought?"

He fixed the question to Crea rather than Sylva. That he did so only nettled Sylva further, and he took some perverse satisfaction in that fact. He did so not to annoy Sylva, however, but simply because he trusted Crea's account rather more than hers.

"Lady Nox Fleuret—" Crea began.

"Queen," Sylva corrected.

"Of what? I was under the impression that the rest of Tenebrae had fallen," Crea said dryly.

Regis wasn't certain whether he should be amused, shocked, or impressed. He settled on a confusing mixture of all three, while struggling to keep his stoic composure.

While Sylva gaped at Crea, she continued. " _Lady Nox Fleuret_ accompanied her daughter when Luna and Noct came upstairs. Being thus admitted, she requested an audience with you. As Avun is currently off duty, I requested that you not be disturbed. Her ladyship took issue with that."

"I apologize, Sire," Sylva said. "But am I correct in my surmise that this young woman is the _nanny_?"

She had such a black and white view of the world. Had it always been so and he had simply failed to see it before his white became her black?

"Crea is in charge of the care and education of Prince Noctis and Princess Reina. But she is also a dear friend." Regis raised his eyebrows at Sylva, daring her to take issue with this title. If it was categorization and rank she wished to dole out, then she would find herself at a loss.

If he hadn't known better, he might have said the look on Crea's face was smug.

Sylva sighed and cast her eyes down. Something on her face shifted, like a mask cracking and falling away. "I did not come here to cause offense, and yet I fear I have done nothing but. I only wished to speak with you earnestly, as we used to do. Is that no longer possible?"

Once they had been friends. There were few who had given him advice more trusted than hers—and that was the root of their troubles. But for the sake of what they had once shared, he could not deny such an earnest plea. He stepped aside and motioned her into his private sitting room. She entered as invited, eyes downcast, without looking at either him or Crea.

"Thank you, Crea," he said.

She looked as if she had more to say, but held her tongue. Instead she gave him a tight smile and turned away. He turned and followed Sylva into the sitting room, closing the doors behind him. He seated himself in his favorite armchair and motioned that she should do the same. He tried not to object to the fact that the seat she chose had once been Aulea's. No one sat in that chair anymore.

"Your people have been very hospitable," she said. "And I have not had the chance, yet, to thank you for your timely rescue of us. I dare not think what would have occurred had you and yours not come for us. Admittedly, I had not hoped that you would, given the circumstances under which we last parted."

"I did not come for your sake," Regis said evenly. "But for your son's."

"Yes, I know," she said. "He's very fond of you. I think he has found in you the father he never had."

"For my part, I am fond of him. Would that we had become closer long ago."

"I always wanted you to." She looked up at him and hazarded a wavering smile. "My children without a father and yours without a mother. For a time it seemed—"

She broke off mid-sentence and he dared not think what the implications of that statement were. It was not unheard of for kings and Oracles to grow very close indeed. History suggested that their bloodlines had intermingled more than once in generations past. Perhaps once the idea would not have been so obscene to him, but today it made his stomach roll.

"My children have a mother," he said. "She loves them as much as I do."

"Crea?"

"Crea," Regis confirmed. "She has saved all our lives many times over. I owe her a great deal."

"I see," she said, though he wasn't sure that she did. "In any case, lost opportunities and missed connections is not why I wanted to speak with you. I came to speak of fate."

She looked out the window, where Ramuh's storm raged ever on. For a long time she was silent, and Regis allowed the conversation to wallow rather than prompting her.

"Reina truly Dreamed the future in Tenebrae?" She asked, as if she didn't know the answer.

"Yes," Regis said. "And many other events as well."

"Will you tell me of her other Dreams?" She pulled her eyes from the storm and fixed her gaze on him instead.

"Four years have passed, Sylva. She has had a great many, and each time lives have been saved. But if it will satisfy your curiosity, I will recount some notable examples."

He did so for her benefit. Between Tenebrae and now, she had doubtless foreseen so many events that Regis had forgotten more than he recalled. But he remembered the imperial attack on Cape Shawe, the fire in the eastern warehouses, the death of his son on the throne, the beginning of Ramuh's storm and many others still. For good measure he added premonitions that had not been Dreams—her dislike of Drautos being foremost among them. When he was through, she sat in thoughtful silence for a long time. He did not interrupt her thoughts, but he did step outside to request that tea be brought for them. When he returned, she seemed to have gathered her thoughts.

"For what it is worth—which I expect is very little—I do believe you. I was wrong, of course, about your daughter. But you've known that all along."

"I have." Regis resumed his seat.

"All my life I have believed in fate as the Astrals' plan. And it is. But my fate, perhaps, was to burn with Tenebrae. As Oracle I wonder if I should not still be alive. But as a woman I spend each day with my daughter as a treasured moment and I wonder how my life—my survival—could possibly be wrong. Should not every person on Eos be given a fighting chance at life? Or would my death have bought the lives of many others?"

"I cannot see how it would," Regis said. "But I can see how your life might mean the difference between life or death for others."

"How?"

"My people are afflicted with the Starscourge. It spreads slowly, but the death toll is high nevertheless. With each death comes new daemons and with each daemon comes new darkness. If the Draconian is to be believed, this is the will of the Astrals. Fitting punishment for a king stepped out of line. That others should suffer for my insubordination is preposterous, however. So I ask you to stand with me. Stand against the Draconian. Heal my people. Do good with the life Reina had bought for you."

"As Oracle, it is my duty to tend to the sick and wounded."

"And to obey the will of the Gods?" Regis asked.

Her face fell. "I hardly know anymore."

"Then you must decide." For a moment he felt a flicker of pity for her. All of her life she had been little if not assured. She was certain of the path she walked, certain of the Gods' will, certain of her place in the game. Now it all came crashing down around her and Regis sat demanding that she take a side. Because he had started a war.

He sighed. "Do not think this was a simple decision for me. I wondered, as you do, if by doing good now I would only doom those that come after us. Will there be a world left behind for my children, or my children's children? I still do not see the full picture. You and I are doomed to see only the here and now while the rest of time fades away. But I trust my daughter. And I trust that not only are her intentions good, but her heart is true and her understanding of the situation is deep. Deeper, I daresay, than any twelve year old has a right possessing. I once marveled at young Lunafreya and her grasp of duty and destiny. Now I must see that for what it was: false confidence in a future that shall never come to pass. Reina has grown into a very different child. You will see her and judge for yourself, but if you think it odd that I would place my faith and trust in a child, recall that the world does the same for Noctis. The difference is that Reina understands, while Noctis has little notion of what this prophecy would have meant for him. It is but a scary story told of a future that will never pass. And I mean to see that it doesn't. Whatever it takes, my son will not die on the throne."

"Then how will you stop the darkness?" She asked.

"With light. And sight. Not death. Reina is confident that the future can be rewritten into one that satisfies my hopes. We need only trust in her."

"And defy the Gods," Sylva said.

"If that is the price for my son's life, then so be it. I should think you would want the same. Or are you so eager to sacrifice Lunafreya? Is she precious to you only because you see her life as fleeting?"

"No!" She denied his accusation, but doubt flickered across her face.

"No? You have neglected Ravus to her benefit. Because she will die? Or because her destiny is important and you revere her?"

"I never—" She stopped herself mid-denial and sat back in her chair, aghast.

"You may deny it aloud to me. But not to yourself," he said levelly. "It is time to face difficult truths, Sylva. And it is time to make a choice. Will you stand with me and heal my people? Or will you trust the mercy of the Gods, who would have seen you dead many times over if not for my daughter? We need your help. I cannot fight the Starscourge on my own and you are the only person with some knowledge of this plague and any ability to cure it."

Her head drooped forward, chin to chest, and she sat in unmoving silence for a long time. So long, in fact, that he began to fear that she would refuse. Would she truly submit herself and all that she loved to death, simply because the Gods said it must be so? Even when he offered her an alternative?

At long last she lifted her chin, straightened her back, and met his gaze. "What must I do?"


	30. Behind Closed Doors

For what remained of the afternoon and evening, they remained closed up in Regis' rooms, discussing history, lore, and strategy. Past tea, Clarus and Weskham arrived to add their minds to the mix. It was not until Avunculus knocked on the door to ask if the king meant to take dinner with his family that Regis realized the better part of the day had slipped away without his notice. He had eaten breakfast, he recalled, but now that dinner was brought to his attention he found he was famished.

They tabled their discussion. Usually Clarus left the Citadel to dine with his own family, but tonight it was understood they were not likely to have an early night. There was much yet to be done. As such, when Regis extended the invitation, both Clarus and Weskham accepted. The dining table was expanded to include spaces for not just the Caelums and the Fleurets, but Clarus and Weskham as well.

It was a strange mixture of emotions, sat around Regis' table that evening. Tension emanated from Ravus; though he remained primarily locked in quiet conversation with Reina, his eyes strayed occasionally to his mother. Noctis was overjoyed, oblivious to most everything else, save the presence of Lunafreya, and yet there was a renewed bashfulness about him. Four years ago the difference in their ages had not seemed so stark. But at sixteen, Lunafreya was undoubtedly a young woman and Noctis was still very much a young boy.

As for Sylva, the tension still remained between them, although it had thawed and been replaced by something less sharp. Something he had no name for. She observed Reina, as he had requested she do, with more curiosity than scrutiny. And Reina played the part of a Princess—not his little girl in chocobo pajamas, but a girl growing to adulthood who, every so often, had a distant look in her eyes, which made her seem much older than her twelve years of age. Halfway through the meal, Sylva caught Regis' eye and gave him a single nod. She had seen a glimpse, perhaps, of what he had known to be there for four years.

After dinner, Regis retired once more to his sitting room with Sylva, Wes, and Clarus, leaving the children—if they could all still be called that—to do what children will do. Talk stretched on for some time longer.

"It goes without saying that you will not be able to accompany Sylva this time, Regis," Clarus noted. "As much as it may do your people good to have sight of their king, and as much as you may want to see these issues up close, I believe we need you present in the capital far too much for that."

"I agree," Regis said. From the look on Clarus' face, he had expected an argument. "There is too much occurring right now, and I should not like to leave Reina unsupervised when we know so little about The Burgundy Man."

It almost seemed more fitting to call him by her name, rather than 'the chancellor' or 'Ardyn Izunia.' Whether or not Ardyn was truly his name remained to be seen—and Cor had assured them that his operatives in Niflheim were already looking into the matter—but it was clear that he was not who they believed him to be. An enigmatic man who walked through a young girl's dreams. Was the chancellor merely a part he played?

"I should like to take Lunafreya with me," Sylva said.

"I see no reason not to," Clarus said. "She seems a capable young woman. And you say she has training in your magic?"

"She does," Sylva confirmed. "She will be a great help to me on my tour of Lucis, and this will serve as an excellent learning opportunity for her."

"There still remains the problem of transportation," Regis said. "Most of our roads are washed out. You may have to travel by boat or even on foot through treacherous paths."

All while the rains continued. It was not an encouraging thought, and the possibility that both Oracle and daughter would be washed away in a landslide while treating the Lucian ill was a very real one.

"If we have no other options, then that is what we will do," she said. "We can hardly ask the afflicted to come to us. They will have less chance than we do to pass through dangerous waters."

A fair enough point, though the question of efficiency was not one to be overlooked. Still. Sylva had her mind set on this path and had that look in her eye that said he would not be able to change her mind. So be it.

"Perhaps we can spare some Glaives?" Clarus suggested.

"I believe we shall have to. If not for practical considerations, it would hardly do for such an auspicious guest to be seen touring Lucis without a royal guard," Regis said.

"Incidentally," Weskham broke in, "The court is clamoring for an explanation for the Oracle's presence in Lucis. Conclusions have already been leapt to, as you can imagine. People are assuming she's here for the betrothal ceremony?"

"That will do as an explanation for now," Regis said. "Though invariably we will need a more long-term solution in time. I leave that in your capable hands."

Weskham bowed his head. "As you wish, Sire."

"The sooner we can arrange this tour, the better," Regis said. "Clarus, send word to Captain Ulric. I want him to hand pick half a dozen Glaives to attend Sylva and Lunafreya on their journey. Their transportation will do."

"Until it doesn't," Clarus said.

"At which point, ingenuity and hard work will have to suffice," Regis said. "Weskham, I leave the public-facing details to you. Sylva, any preparations you and Lunafreya must make before departure should be seen to as soon as possible. You will have attendants to handle errands within the castle for you. If there is nothing else, I suggest we all retire for the evening."

With no more ceremony than that, they did so. It was a relief to have a moment of quiet in what had been a hectic day, but he could not allow himself a true reprieve. His children awaited. He left his rooms after the others had dispersed and made his way down the hall to the twins' bedroom. He found them tucked into their beds, but still awake and awaiting him. Instead of a bedtime story, he sat and reconnected with them, as he had not had the chance to do over dinner while they hosted so many guests.

Once again, he reiterated his desire that Reina refrain from Dreaming; thus far he had yet to loosen his hold on the walls that protected her. To do so stunted her vision and otherworldly senses, but it was better they be blind to the future than have an unknown enemy inside her head.

When at last both Reina and Noctis had fallen asleep, Regis settled himself for another long night in the chair at their beside. Until Crea appeared, in any case.

"You can't really mean to do this every night," she whispered, coming to stand beside his chair.

He held a finger to his lips, indicating the sleeping children. He glanced over his shoulder. The door to the hall was still cracked open, but Crownsguards stood outside and they could hardly speak candidly in front of others. Besides that door, two others led out from the bedroom: one to the bathroom, no longer decorated with cute little chocobos but becoming more austere with age, and the other to what had once been dining room for toddling twins but had eventually transformed into a playroom once they began using the dining hall downstairs with Regis. Over the years, the contents had changed, but the purpose was more or less the same. It would do for a quiet conversation.

Regis nodded in the direction of the second door, but did not immediately follow when Crea moved in that direction. He rose and watched the peaceful slumber of his children for a few moments. They had guards in every conceivable corner of the castle and yet Regis still feared for their safety. This foe was not one to be engaged with a blade. Certainly not one of steel, in any case.

He wrapped a strand of awareness around Reina. The barriers he had put around her held strong and to his senses nothing outside had given them any thorough inspection or testing. He didn't need to be near her to be aware of her. But he preferred to be. Just in case.

That done, he pulled himself away and followed Crea out of the room. He left the door ajar behind him and flicked on the lights. The room held an arrangement of sofas and chairs arranged around a television, a selection of books neatly stowed in a bookshelf, an elaborate dollhouse with occupants all abed, and several shelves full of toys—from figurines and plushes to cars to plastic swords. The days of noisy frog toys were well behind them.

Crea stood in the middle of it all, arms folded, staring at him. "If you insist on staying up all night you're going to have to sleep during the day."

"I did. As I believe you know."

"An hour nap does not a full night's sleep make," she said. "If your afternoon activities are any clue, you're planning something big and you're going to need your strength. Don't even get me started on the long and short term effects of lack of sleep."

Regis smiled ruefully, even in the face of her ire. He seated himself on the sofa, which felt substantially better than standing. His muscles ached, in spite of the bath.

"I'm sure I have experienced them all, by this point in my life."

He suspected, once the words had left his mouth, that this had been the wrong thing to say. She pursed her lips, no hint of her usual smile on her face.

"Then I'll stay up with you," she said.

"Crea, you know you cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"Barring the obvious, that you need your rest—"

"So do you."

"—It is in poor form that you spent even one night here with me. You know full well how rapidly talk spreads in the Citadel."

"And they'll say what? That we're having sex in Reina and Noctis' bedroom while they're sleeping?" She asked dryly.

"It matters very little what they believe. More important is that we were both seen to spend all night in their room. Either one of us might make sense. But not both of us," Regis said.

"What if I didn't care?" She asked, the words too quiet for the question.

Regis was too caught off guard to respond immediately. There was something behind the annoyance on her face that he couldn't quite place.

"It only leads to where we have already been," he managed at length.

She turned away from him. In the tension of her body he could read nothing of her thoughts. For a moment he thought she would walk away and leave him, and a mad part of his mind raised the impulse to grab her and tell her he didn't care what the staff thought either. He suppressed the urge. Barely.

She didn't leave. After a moment, she did speak.

"I met Sylva Nox Fleuret," she said with an effort.

"So I gathered," Regis said. "She is a difficult person to get along with."

"Is she?" Crea turned around to look at him, and something like accusation was written on her face. "Because she suggested you used to get along _very_ well."

Regis' mouth went dry. Somehow they had ended up here, from the mad impulse to do something rash together. Yet there was no point denying it.

"Several lifetimes ago," Regis said. "When I was a young prince and she was not so set in her ways."

"I thought you and Aulea were childhood friends," Crea said.

"We were. I had known her since we were five or six, I believe. But, as you know, young boys are often foolish and incapable of seeing what is right before their nose."

"Grown men, too," Crea said.

Regis smiled bitterly. "We see very well. We merely deliberate over it more."

"So. Prince Regis and the Oracle," Crea mused.

"She was not the Oracle, at the time," he said. "But yes, we were together on and off for several months at least… perhaps a year."

"What happened?"

"I returned home from a young man's adventures and realized… well, I realized many things. But foremost among them is that I realized Aulea loved me and I loved her. And those feelings were far greater and deeper than anything I had felt for Sylva."

"If things had turned out differently for us… would you have gone back to her after Aulea's death?" Crea asked.

"I cannot say for certain, though I suppose it is possible," Regis said. When Sylva had come to Lucis after Crea had left, a part of him had remembered those months. But he had been too pained to think of any other than Crea. "But one thing is certain. If I had, she would be dead and Noctis would be doomed to follow."

"Why?"

In short order he recounted the tale of what had occurred in Tenebrae four years previously: his misplaced confidence in Sylva as he had shared his suspicions of Reina's magic and her subsequent denial that any such thing could be possible or significant.

"Had I loved her, I would have listened to her. Reina's Dreams would have gone disregarded and we would not have realized until too late that they were true."

"Ironic." Crea turned toward the window, hugging her arms. "I think you could have been happy with her."

"Do you indeed?" Regis asked more sharply than he had intended.

Whether she noticed his tone or not, she only responded to his words. "She clearly knows what it takes to be a queen."

"She has been doing so her entire life," Regis said. "But it takes more than that to make happiness."

"If you let yourself be happy with her…"

Pieces clicked into place. This conversation was not the arbitrary, wandering thing he had initially perceived it to be. No idle curiosity drove her questions, but a painful jealousy. He knew the sensation too well for comfort.

"I see," he said. "And it is as simple as that? Simply decide to love another and allow myself to be happy with them? Tell me, Crea. How well did that work out for you?"

Her mouth fell open. She flushed and looked away from him, picking at one of her nails.

"I'm sorry. That was stupid," she said.

Regis pushed himself to his feet and went to her. He took her in his arms. He shouldn't have, but this talk was slowly wearing away at what little self control he maintained throughout exhaustion.

"No. It was not stupid." He rested his cheek against her head and held her as a tremble ran through her body. "It was understandable. As one who has wondered much the same thing, I can only give you the assurance you have given me, for whatever faint comfort it might offer: I love you, Crea. And for what it is worth, Sylva has not crossed my mind in many years, except in ill favor. And she should be more jealous of you than vice versa."

She was quiet for some time, turning against him and resting her head on his chest. When at last she did speak, it was muffled and quiet. He strained to hear her words.

"It helps, I think. Less than it should. Or more than it should. Knowing no one else will have you doesn't make me happy."

"I know."

And here they stood, in a barely secluded playroom off Reina and Noctis' bedroom, in quiet conversation about forbidden things. He couldn't find the will in him to care about what should or should not have been. But…

"You should be in bed," he managed.

"So should you."

"We have been over this before."

"And I haven't changed my mind," she said.

"You are as stubborn as I."

"Please," she said. "No one is that stubborn."

She looked up at him and he caught the hint of a smile on her lips, which he returned.

"Very well, Miss Crea," he said. "I can see you won't be dissuaded."

His consent, for what it was worth, put an end to discussion. A second chair was pulled up in the adjacent room between the twins' beds and they passed that night, for what Regis could remember of it, in much the same fashion as they had the night before, with one key difference. That night, he fell asleep.


	31. Hope

When consciousness returned, Regis woke with a start. He jerked upright in his armchair and reached for Reina, first physically, then with his magic to test the stability of his barriers.

Reina lay asleep in her bed, precisely as he had left her. The walls he had built around her to hold her inside and everything else out were still sound. Whole. Untouched. He let out a breath and smoothed her hair back. It was dark still. But it was most often dark in Lucis under the cover of Ramuh's storm. The clock on their bedside table said it was no later than five in the morning. He had slept undisturbed, but it could hardly be called a full night's rest. Still. It was more than he had taken in days.

He leaned back in his armchair, now fully awake with the pounding of his heart just beginning to subside. He couldn't have gone back to sleep if he had wanted to. In part, that was due to the tickle in the back of his mind that whispered he _could_ safely sleep. After all, he had just done so. Nothing had happened. Did he truly need to watch over Reina's every sleeping moment?

And that tempting bit of information was precisely what worried him. Ardyn had yet to make a move. Why? Because he wished to lull Regis into a false sense of security? Because he was waiting for his guard to be let down so he could strike once Regis was less vigilant? It was a disturbing possibility and far more likely than the option that Ardyn was simply locked out and Regis' barrier would hold, impenetrable, for an indefinite amount of time. He had already proved to them that he knew a great deal of what went on inside Lucis and held information they had thought to be secret.

He had known they were coming to Tenebrae. He knew of Reina's Dreams. He had known, more or less, precisely what they had done after arriving at Fenestala. How?

The simplest answer was that he had some informant. And so Regis would have assumed, if not for his other displays. Displays of impossible power and magic that no one, save the royal family, should have had access to.

The man made no sense.

That day offered no further answers for Regis. Preparations for Sylva's departure proceeded apace. By midday they all stood just beyond the reach of the rain in the Citadel entrance hall, though the open doors were allowing more than a few stray drops to blow inside. For the first time in decades, Sylva was dressed for travel rather than show. It was good to see that she retained the sense to recognize that her heavy gowns would do little good on a hike through landslide territory. Instead she had been fitted with trousers, boots, and a sensible shirt. Her hair was braided and pinned up behind her head and out of the way.

Lunafreya was dressed likewise, a fact which seemed to have stalled Noctis' brain. He stared at her in unseemly silence, as if it had not occurred to him that girls were permitted to wear pants.

"We will keep contact with you, as well as we can." Sylva tugged on her gloves and clasped her hands before her. "I have no idea what we will find out there."

"Nor do I," Regis said. Save for the reports brought to him by Ravus, he had a distressing lack of knowledge into this plight of his people. Until now, it had seemed something to be beared rather than faced. Perhaps their luck was due for a change.

She smiled uncomfortably, like she wanted to say more but was uncertain how. The truce between them was a fragile one at best. His conversation with Crea the night before had only made a tense situation more awkward. Some boyhood ventures were best left forgotten.

Sylva glanced over his shoulder and whatever words had been hovering on her lips died there. She cleared her throat. "Well, we shall see you when we return. With good news, I hope. Goodbye, Your Majesty."

Regis fought against the urge to look over his shoulder and discover what it was that had changed her mind so abruptly. Instead he simply said, "Farewell. And safe travels."

She turned on her heel and made for the front doors, calling to Lunafreya who bowed hastily to Noctis and ran to catch up. The Kingsglaive squad assigned to escort them fell into step behind and, once all had exited into the storm, the doors shut behind them. Only then did Regis chance to turn around.

Crea was standing behind him. Not directly, but at a respectable distance, with Reina and Ravus both nearby. She gave him an unreadable look, which he couldn't even begin to interpret. When Reina and her persistent crowd of followers—which included Crowe, Iris, Cindy, a handful of attendants, and several courtiers—turned to leave, Ravus went with them and, after a moment's pause, so too did Crea.

So Regis was left wondering precisely what the look meant as he stood in the hall, staring after her. His own ubiquitous team of followers and attendants loitered about, waiting for the king to make his next move. What he really wanted was a nap. But one look at Clarus told him he was unlikely to get one.

Crea was right. He could not drag himself on, day after day, without rest. Something would have to be done. The question remained as to what.

No answers presented themselves throughout the day. No simple ones, at least. He could sleep without watching over her and trust in his shields, but the trouble was that he didn't trust in his shields. He could bind himself more tightly to her in hopes that any troubles arising would wake him from whatever sleep he could find during the night, but that seemed nearly as much of a gamble.

Or he could hunt down The Burgundy Man himself.

"You want to engage with this man—or whatever he is—in the In Between?" Clarus asked when he posed this last option over a hasty lunch.

"I can think of no other way to ensure her safety than seeking the source of danger directly."

"And what of the danger to you?" Clarus asked. "I cannot protect you in some dream world."

"No, you cannot. And that is where I shall have to ask you to trust me."

"Fifteen years ago, I should have had less trouble doing so. But you are not the man you once were, Regis, and you know as well as I."

Regis bristled. "No indeed. I am twice the man I was."

"That is not what I meant. The Wall—"

"Is a temporary, if tiresome, burden." It was an argument they had rehashed time and time again ever since Regis had shown the first ill signs of strain. "I should have thought my final encounter with Drautos was sufficient to prove I am not, nor do I intend to become, a frail old man. The strain has not made me weaker. It has made me stronger."

"Do you intend to lay down the Wall before meeting with the chancellor of Niflheim?" Clarus asked.

"No. But it remains an option, should I find myself desperately in need of strength."

Clarus shook his head, out of arguments and standing on thin ice, but unwilling to relent. "I don't like it."

"And I do not require you to," Regis said. "My mind is made up."

It had not been, when first they had begun the conversation. Now it was.

He could abide the fussing company of his friends no longer, after that. He left his study for the Royal Quarters, leaving Clarus and the others unceremoniously behind, to seek whatever semblance of solitude was to be found. It was, at the very least, quiet upstairs. Noctis had gone off, likely with Ignis and Gladiolus, to do whatever it was preteen boys did in when they had no school work. Reina was still about the Citadel making further arrangements for the betrothal ceremony and if Ravus was with her then so, too, was her chaperone, Crea.

Regis lowered into a lounge chair with a groan. Peace at last. If only for a few moments. He would seek The Burgundy Man tonight; until then, he had but to decide what to say.

It was dangerous, letting his guard down when he had slept so little in the past few days. He must have dozed off not long after sitting down. He drifted through uneasy dreams where he wandered through a black maze, following a patterned cloak and a flash of burgundy hair, always two steps ahead. And beyond The Burgundy Man, only visible occasionally through wisps of black fog, was the familiar shape of an ebony-haired girl.

The next thing he recalled was stirring in a still-quiet lounge to the sound of whispered voices and footsteps on marble. A door opened and closed distantly.

"Use the elevator downstairs, please," Crea whispered.

"As you wish, my lady," Avun responded in equally quiet tones.

A part of him wanted little more than to roll over and go back to sleep. But now that he was conscious he was cognizant that there was no rolling over to be done when he sat in an armchair, and, with dim recollections of uneasy dreams on his mind, he had little inclination to return to them. Ardyn chasing Reina and Regis chasing Ardyn; was it not enough that the same occurred in his waking life? Must he relive it in what scarce sleep was granted him?

"Crea." He heard her footsteps moving past his chair and reached out to catch her wrist.

"Regis! You're awake." And yet she whispered still, as if afraid to wake him further. "I tried to let you sleep."

Of course she had. He peeled his eyes open to look at her; his vision was blurry still with sleep, and blinking several times helped little.

"Reina?" He managed.

"She's fine. She's with Crowe and the others still, but Ravus has left to attend to his own affairs, so I have some time."

He released her wrist and pushed himself upright, distantly aware that he had been napping in an armchair in a well-guarded lounge. To have the Crownsguards muttering amongst themselves that the king couldn't keep his eyes open through the day seemed the start of a new nightmare.

So did the thought of keeping his eyes open through the day.

"There is something I would like to discuss with you, if you have a moment," she said.

"Of course." He ran his hands over his face and struggled to kick his mind into gear.

"In your own rooms, perhaps?" She suggested.

Something not to be overhead by the Crownsguards and servants, then. He nodded once and rose to his feet, doing his best to forcibly banish the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. It didn't work, but he put on a good show.

He led the way down the hall to his chambers; the guards held the doors open for them and, once both Crea and he were inside, shut them tight.

"Is this related to me falling asleep in the lounge?" Regis asked, any pretense of formality dropping once they were alone together.

"No, but I wish you would have chosen your own room."

"It was not a choice, as such," he said. "In any case, I prefer to be woken."

He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the coffee table and stood at the back windows wetting his parched mouth.

"You'll have to sleep eventually," she said.

"If dreaming hours are no more comfortable than waking ones, I shall concoct some new ways to avoid them," he said.

Sympathy flashed across her face. He turned away. If he accepted that she wanted to lend him some comfort and leaned on her any more… well. They had walked that line much too closely already.

"What was it you wished to discuss?" He asked.

She took the hint. "Sylva."

They had already done so, he recalled, but she was not often one to rehash old discussions and disagreements. He waited.

"I can't tell if you've noticed, but she's still very much enamored of you."

Regis blanched. "Enamored of me?"

"Yes, Regis," she said with that same half-amused patience she always wore while he was being exceptionally dense.

"I see."

He had noticed something, though that wasn't the word he would have used to describe it. A part of him had assumed she was merely contrite about what had passed in Tenebrae and was desperate to make amends. Perhaps he had been wrong.

"That, by itself, doesn't really warrant a discussion," Crea said. "But I think she feels threatened by me. And therefore I think it's only a matter of time before she puts the pieces together."

"And you believe she might destroy our hard-kept secrets?" Regis asked. Poorly-kept secrets was more apt.

Crea shrugged. "I don't know what she would do. You know her better."

What would Sylva do with the knowledge that the king and the nanny were in love and trying hard to keep it from the public eye? Once he would have said she would have stood with him in sheltering the secret. She would have respected his decisions and supported them.

Now he wasn't so sure.

He sank onto the sofa and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was too damn tired to deal with this ballroom dance of etiquette. If he stepped out of line with Sylva and she got it into that spiteful little head of hers to pay back perceived wrongs to him the damage would be irreversible.

Regis groaned. "I just want to sleep."

"Then sleep." Crea lifted the glass of water from his hand and set it on the coffee table. Then she grabbed his arm and heaved until he complied and climbed to his feet.

"I note you have told me to sleep and are pulling me away from that ever so comfortable couch."

"You haven't slept in days, Regis." She was leading him to his bedroom. "At least rest properly while you have the chance, if you mean to stay awake all night."

"No," Regis said. "I intend to face The Burgundy Man myself, tonight."

She halted. He was already most of the way to his bed, so he closed the last of the distance and sat down on the edge. It was more comfortable than standing.

"You're going to hunt him down and talk to him yourself?" She asked, a distant, shocked look on her face.

"Please, spare me the lecture. Clarus has already told me I am too old to pick fights with daemons."

She stirred from her stunned reverie and came to kneel on the floor before him, untying his shoes. "I wasn't going to lecture. I just didn't know that was possible."

"I'm not certain it is." Regis worked the buckles on his cape and pauldron until it fell in a heap on the bed.

"Then you'll need all the rest you can get. There's no use going into an unknown situation half exhausted off your feet."

He was down to his shirtsleeves before he realized what she had done. No cajoling, no convincing, no guilt-slinging. She had simply sat him down on his bed and taken his shoes and already he was halfway undressed and prepared to lay down for an extended nap. He stopped.

"Crea."

"Yes?" She rose to her feet, sliding his shoes off to one side. The picture of innocence. She had mastered the sly manipulation of a child. Never for a minute did he think she didn't know precisely what she was doing.

"You are too clever by half."

"Only half?"

He climbed to his feet, though tired muscles protested, and looked down at her. They didn't usually stand so close together. She was some eight inches shorter than him and was forced to tilt her head all the way back to look at him.

It would have been so easy to kiss her.

They were alone in his rooms. Perhaps they shouldn't have been, but that choice had already been made. It could have been an innocent one.

He didn't notice he had lowered his face toward hers until she pressed her fingers over his lips.

"Don't."

His arms were around her, though he could not recall having put them there. She stood warm in the circle of his arms and he could feel the fluttering of her heart against his chest.

"Why?"

A foolish question voiced in the heat of a foolish moment. Perhaps he did not want to know the answer.

She studied his face, pain on hers. "You know why."

Because of every man in the world, he came with the highest price to pay. One he couldn't willingly ask anyone to pay simply to be with him.

"Because I don't know if I can be everything you need me to be," she said.

His hold on her loosened. That wasn't precisely the same thing. "You are everything I need."

"You know what I mean." She pulled away from him, turning her back. "What Lucis would need me to be. Aulea was born and raised in this. Everyone says that, despite her poor health, she was your partner in every way, with a hand in everything that went on in the Citadel and a finger on the pulse of the kingdom. I don't know if I can do that. I almost wish you could still love Sylva and be happy with her. She may be single-minded, but at least she could rule a kingdom beside you."

Something shifted in his chest.

"Crea…" He stepped after her, laying his hands on her shoulders. "I do not need you to become Aulea. Nor would I want you to try. But I should not like to see you give up all of your freedom to become a queen."

She gave a dry laugh and turned to look at him. "What freedom?"

"Things you take now for granted. The freedom of any sort of personal privacy. The freedom to ever leave the Citadel. The freedom to tell people your life is none of their business. The freedom to make your own choices without considering what court or council will think of them, without hearing or heeding advice given by a dozen different voices."

She considered.

"I think that would be difficult," she agreed after a time, "But if I thought I could be a queen, I could still make that trade."

"It is not a choice to be made lightly."

She laughed again, though there was nothing of humor about it. "Lightly? Where have you been for the last four years?"

His heart fluttered like a bird trapped in his ribcage. "You would truly give all of that up… for me?"

"You don't need to sound so shocked. I've been living here for the better part of twelve years on and off. I understand how you live and how your children live. I just… don't know if I can give you and the kingdom the queen you deserve."

"Crea." He caught her face in his hands and held her, so near their noses nearly brushed. "You are so much more than I deserve."

Before she could object again, he kissed her. Her hands clenched into fists on his vest and for a moment he feared she would push him away. Instead she relaxed against him, sliding her hands up to the back of his neck and kissing him back with all the pent-up eagerness they had both held in check for four years.

He only stopped kissing her when they were both breathless and even then he held her, forehead pressed to hers. His lips tingled with numbness.

"I love you, Crea," he breathed. "Every day more than the last, no matter how I try to escape it."

A tear streaked down her cheek. He brushed it away as rapidly as it fell.

"I don't know how to rule a kingdom," she said.

"Nor would I ever ask it of you." He brushed his finger over her lips, halting a brewing objection. "Hush now. Listen to me. I do not put this choice before you today; you scarce deserve such pressure. I only wish to tell you that I love you and shall never cease to care for you, whatever choice we may make."

"Whatever choice…" she echoed.

He kissed her again and sank into blissful unawareness of the world around. Eventually she pulled away and pressed her fingers to his lips. It was difficult to force a reproachful look onto her smiling face, yet she tried all the same.

"You supposed to be in bed," she said.

"Come with me."

She was smiling. "No."

Her smile only deepened as he took a step back, arms still around her waist, and pulled her along with him. After a few steps, a laugh bubbled up.

"Behave yourself, Regis." She pushed both hands against his chest and he released her, lowering onto the edge of his bed alone, but smiling stupidly all the same. "Just because you kissed me doesn't mean we can throw away all the secrecy we've fought for."

She was right, of course. And his invitation was more a jest than a sincere offer. Still, it would have been nice.

"Get some sleep, Regis." She stooped to kiss his forehead. He caught her lips with his instead and fought the urge to pull her down alongside him. He contented himself with a few more insufficient kisses before she pulled away.

She left and took the heat with her. But that fluttering feeling in his chest lingered. Not a sensation he had felt in some time.

Hope.


	32. In the Dark of Night

He sank into blissful oblivion. And for a time he knew nothing.

When he woke, it was to a room lit only by sporadic lightning. If ever the rain stopped, the silence would have been unnerving. There must have been a time when the sheets of rain slamming against Citadel glass was not a ubiquitous sound in his home. But he could not now remember it.

It took a moment for his brain to collect itself and recall the reason for the soft, fluttering feeling in his stomach. When he did, he smiled stupidly at the ceiling and permitted himself a few more slothful moments of recollection. But only a few. Work awaited and, judging by the clock, he had already wasted much time sleeping.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his suit and shoes, his cape and pauldron. Crea wouldn't have called them wasted hours. Then again, Crea did not have a nation in emergency waiting on her for five dozen decisions. What would she have done, put in his place?

He had said he would never ask her to rule the kingdom, but could he truly stand by that? While he had no imminent plans to end his life, he did walk a dangerous line with the Astrals. In the eventuality that his life ended, he had heirs, but as of yet they were much too young. And the one he had slated for the throne had no interest in rule, while the other had a great deal of interest and not enough sense to temper it. The Queen-consort was not regent by law, in the event of heirs too young to rule, but she was by default. When that default included a court born and bred woman who had all but been trained for the position. Not unlike Ignis.

So who would rule in Noctis' place until he came of age, in the event of Regis' death? Clarus, presumably, save that Clarus was his Shield as well as his Hand, and therefore unlikely to survive him. One more reason to have a separate Shield and Hand. Weskham, then.

Although… if the prophecy was subverted, Noctis had no reason to remain crown prince. The possibility of changing heirs sprouted a whole new mess of issues. Especially given that Reina was slated to be engaged to a young man who _was_ old enough to rule a kingdom.

Never mind that now. New options with Crea, which he had never before thought possible, had his mind wandering. He needed to focus.

He left the confines of his quarters and returned downstairs to his study, where a host of matters were begging for his attention. He lost himself to them for the next several hours until Avunculus reminded him it was time for dinner. Once it would have been a summons he ignored. Now it was a time he had carved for himself away from the kingdom, and a time for him to be a father. Lucis would still stand when he returned. If not, then working through dinner would not change matters.

Crea avoided his gaze during dinner. It troubled him at first, until he finally caught her eye and a bashful smile blossomed across her face. She hid it hastily behind her glass of water and averted her gaze. After that, he did not try so hard to catch her eye. Better not to be smiling stupidly across the dining table at each other.

Ravus was more at ease in his mother's absence. He spoke quietly with Reina and exchanged easy words with Noctis. A part of the family already.

Following dinner, Regis transferred his work upstairs and scrounged what time he could before Reina and Noctis' bedtime. Just as he was preparing to set aside his work, the elevator chimed and an attendant announced, "Master Clarus Amicitia, Your Majesty."

Regis set his pages aside, folded his hands in his lap, and looked up as Clarus stepped out of the elevator.

"I thought I should be here," he said. "In case someone needs to wake _you_."

Crea paused halfway to the stairs. "Is that actually a risk?"

"Hardly," Regis said.

"He doesn't know," said Clarus.

Crea glanced over her shoulder at Regis. He could only shake his head and do his best to convey, via exasperated expressions, that Clarus was in a poor mood after their argument that morning. Whether she gleaned anything from the look he gave her, she did turn away.

"I'll fetch Reina and Noctis." And resumed her walk downstairs.

In a few moments they were joined by the twins and in a few more after that Regis was entrenched in the full bedtime routine while Clarus and Crea sat quietly in the lounge, talking. Each time he caught sight of them through the open bedroom doors while he paced about urging Noctis into his pajamas and Reina to brush properly, it was to see them with heads together and grave expressions on their faces. Much as he wished to put an end to whatever worries Clarus was filling her mind with, he refused to let anything steal his attention away from his children.

Their bedtime routine was the same as ever: a time for the three of them to be simply together as a family, which he would never allow another to take his place in. For those brief minutes before bed, at least, he could be a true father to them, as if they were not Caelums locked away in a tower, awaiting their destinies.

Once the bedtime story was through he tucked them in tightly, kissed their heads, and withdrew to find Clarus and Crea waiting for him.

"Did you tell them what you meant to do?" Crea asked.

"No," Regis said. "I saw no reason to."

"If there is no risk, why not tell them?" Clarus asked.

So this was the game they played. Regis regarded them both stonily.

"I have never claimed there was no risk associated with what I plan to do. I have merely claimed it is a necessary risk." He fixed his eyes on Crea. "If you wish me to ever sleep through a night again, I must face the threat that haunts my daughter. I have not told them because there is no need. If I meet with success, they will learn of that tomorrow. If not, there is no reason to burden them with my failures."

"And I am saying it is an unnecessary risk," Clarus said. "You have hardly even considered any alternatives and you have no notion of what awaits you in the In Between."

"Have you an alternative for me to consider?"

Clarus was silent.

"I see," Regis said. "Until you do, I shall pursue the only solution available to me. Goodnight."

He turned on his heel and left them both standing in the lounge. To reach the In Between, he would need to sleep—or at least very nearly so. The state was more akin to meditation than anything else. But it would be easier to reach that state if he focused on sleep.

He withdrew to his rooms and went about his own nightly routine. For all that he had no notion what to expect when he sought The Burgundy Man, he was more concerned that an overzealous Clarus would break down his bedroom door and drag him from the In Between before he had time to make any headway. He could have asked the Crownsguards outside to bar Clarus' entry, but it would have been difficult to convey to them that he could enter in the case of an emergency, and if he did so then it would open the door—so to speak—for Clarus to convince them anything was an emergency. Who were they to argue with the Commander, after all?

No, he would simply have to hope that Clarus' good sense won out over irrational fears, and that luck was on his side. After all, Regis would have no way of conveying if or when he was truly in danger to Clarus, and Clarus had no way to sense it on his own.

It was dangerous. But for Reina's sake, he had to try.

He laid down to sleep, but instead shut his eyes and settled his consciousness into the semi-aware state that permitted him to drift into the In Between. It was from here that he could commune with the Lucii, if he so desired. The last few times he had beseeched their aid, they had done little for him. It was not the kings of eld he sought tonight.

The In Between was not so much a place, in his mind, as it was a state of being. But Reina spoke of it as a true location. The place people went when they dreamed. The place she went to find the Black River. The place where The Burgundy Man met her.

How, then, did he search for a person inside a state of being?

Call it a place, then. And let it be physical.

No sooner had he thought as much than he found himself very much _in_ the In Between. A featureless, limitless, black locale where he drifted, a formless consciousness. Reina had said she had met The Burgundy Man beside the Black River, but everything was black. How was he to find a river in a featureless world?

Once more his thoughts seemed to shape the unspace. As if his eyes had adjusted to the dark, he could suddenly see depth and distance. A smooth black floor beneath a seamless black sky. For his eyes to adjust meant he had eyes. He willed himself to take a step and found he had feet. He ran his hands down an incorporeal body; he was precisely the same, down to the last thread in his suit, as he was in the physical world.

A dream world indeed. A world in which thoughts shaped everything.

And yet, how was he to find The Burgundy Man in this endless blackness? Nothing in any direction seemed to indicate where he should go. He tried to focus his mind on Ardyn Izunia and all that he knew of the man, but to no avail. It was no use. Whether because shaping this world only worked insofar as it pertained to things that did not truly exist, or because Regis understood so little about the man his daughter called The Burgundy Man that he could not begin to summon him into being, he had no notion.

A new approach, then. Ardyn was, so far as Regis understood, interested in Reina. So perhaps he would haunt the outside of Reina's mind, just beyond the walls Regis had built for her. If he found Reina, he might find some pointer to the Burgundy Man.

Reina was easy to find. He was bound up so tightly with her, between the sharing of his magic, the ties that kept her from leaving her own center, and the walls he had built around her, he simply had to follow the road laid out before him. And the road was as short as he willed it to be: no sooner had he summoned Reina to mind and focused on the bonds between them than he could see her, a shimmering form in the distance. She lay in bed, precisely as he had left her, curled up with Chika the Chocobo under one arm. A light seemed to shine upon her, as if a hole had been punched in the black sky and moonlight cascaded down only in her vicinity. Around her was a prismatic barrier. His barrier, shimmering with familiar magic.

He turned his feet in her direction and walked. And walked. And walked.

For every step he took, she grew not an inch closer. He broke into a run and found the results the same. He focused his mind on hers and willed her to draw nearer, but to no avail.

"You can't reach her from here. Or have you forgotten already what you have done?"

Regis spun to face the source of the airy voice. Out of the darkness, as if stepping from thick black fog, emerged Ardyn Izunia. He swept off his hat and bowed.

"What do you mean, 'what I have done'?" Regis asked.

"Prevented her from reaching the In Between. And prevented the In Between from reaching her. Wasn't that the point?" Ardyn straightened and replaced his hat on his head.

But of course. He had bound her up to her core so tightly that she would not slip into the In Between while she slept. Somehow that had not occurred to him when he had gone searching for her.

"To keep _me_ away from your precious princess?" Ardyn asked. "Don't make me laugh, _King_ Regis. If I had wanted her, she would have been mine before you had any notion that we were even acquainted. Did it never occur to you that what I was truly after was you?"

A chill ran in Regis' blood. If Ardyn Izunia was an eerie man in the flesh, it was nothing compared to his state in the In Between.

"It took nearly snaring your daughter and several very obvious hints before you even noticed me. Tsk. That such a leader of men could be so dense. Even after my hints lay bare before you, it still took days for you to come. Did you truly mean to just stop sleeping and hope that would protect your precious little girl? I suppose eventually I would have had to do something drastic, but thankfully I am a very patient man."

Regis circled around him, one step at a time, placing himself between Ardyn and Reina. The barrier around her shimmered and brightened, casting pale light on Ardyn's dark features.

Ardyn laughed. "Oh, _dear_ Daddy, so protective of his little girl! A threat to him means nothing, no. So long as I make no move against the princess."

"I doubt any claims you make," Regis said. "Foremost among them, I doubt the claim that you are a man."

""Oh, but I was, once."

And his words all but confirmed that he was not anymore. A daemon, born of a man, just as they had suspected.

"Now I am the nightmare that haunts Caelum children, awaiting the _Last Caelum_ , so that I can consume him."

"The Last Caelum?"

"Have you guessed what I am yet?"

The nightmare that haunts Caelum children. Awaiting the Last Caelum.

"You _do_ know." Ardyn circled closer. "Say it. Put words to your foolish thoughts."

"Adagium." The word was drawn from him, as if against his will. Once it had been, Regis had no recollection of having meant to say it.

Ardyn smiled. Not the smug smirk that most often found a place on his features, but an unsettling grin. The hairs on the back of Regis' neck stood up.

"Adagium," Ardyn repeated.

"If that is true, then you should have _only_ interest in my children," Regis said.

Ardyn flapped a dismissive hand. The grin faded and impatience took its place. "You give too much credit to scary stories told in the dark. I do eat souls and perhaps I will kill your son, but for now I only wish to _talk_."

"Regarding?"

"Fate."

Regis waited. Whatever this creature had to say to him, he would hear. He could do nothing without some understanding of what it wanted. And he had, after all, come here tonight with a goal. Protect Reina.

"You are already well on your path to tearing down every last one of the Draconian's plans. Why not take it one step further?" Ardyn asked. " _Kill_ the Draconian."

Regis prided himself in his ability to maintain his outward composure, despite the situation. But this was something else altogether. He wanted Regis to _kill_ a _god_?

"It's the only way to achieve your goals," Ardyn said. "While he yet lives, the prophecy will press on. He will see to that. Dear Noctis will die to buy dawn with his blood. And poor little Reina will be all alone without a friend in the world."

"That isn't true, damn it." Regis took a step forward, but stopped himself before he reached Ardyn. Behind him, Reina slept on—blissfully unaware of all that went on around her.

"No? You think the paltry preparations you've made will hold through Bahamut's wrath? You can't live forever, you know. The Wall will drain you dry. And once you are gone, who will be left to stand between the Draconian and your children? Who will stop him from exacting revenge on the children of the man who defied him?"

A thought he had given embarrassingly little consideration to. If he failed—even if he succeeded—what happened after?

"If we succeed and end this plague without sacrificing Noctis' life, Bahamut will be satisfied. The covenant will be satisfied," Regis said.

"Aw. How sweet. You think the Draconian is rational," Ardyn said. "Tell me, King Regis. What has he ever done that might suggest that?"

Against his will, Regis found himself considering. Bahamut threatened retribution if Regis failed to walk the path. Not if he failed to defeat the darkness. If he failed to _walk the path_. Why should his black and white notion extend only to the result of this excursion? He was angry now because Regis had dared disobey him. Why should that end if the darkness was destroyed?

"Hm. What was that? Nothing? Nothing whatsoever?" Ardyn asked. "That's what I thought."

Regis gathered up all thoughts of how and why and what happened after, and set them aside. This was not the time to question his beliefs. Not while he stood in the In Between had bargained with the darkness at the heart of all daemonkind.

"So. You wish me to kill a god. No easy feat. And what do you offer in return for this?" Regis asked.

"I offer you my aid, of course." Ardyn's smile twisted wider. "If you're going to stem the flow of light, you'll want darkness on your side. Don't forget that his death benefits you on its own. With him gone, you will have freedom."

"I shall also have one less ally in my battle against darkness."

"If you consider Bahamut an ally, you must be blind indeed."

And yet, he was still here and still talking. They walked a delicate line and Regis hadn't broken it yet.

"Leave my daughter alone," Regis said.

"Is that all you want?"

"I am not bargaining for the Draconian's life," Regis said. "Leave my daughter alone and I will consider all you have said."

"Such a simple wish!" Ardyn laughed. He turned a circle, arms thrown wide, head back, and laughed in a way that made Regis wonder if making even this bargain with him was too much. "Granted! Go back to your warm little bed and set the princess free of her glass prison. You know where to find me when you're ready to talk."

He locked his eyes on Regis' and stepped back once, twice, into the darkness until it wrapped around him like hundreds of grasping hands. He was gone. Not just in sight, but all sense of his presence was gone from the In Between. Regis spun at once to face Reina.

She remained as she had been all along: curled in her bed an unreachable distance away and sealed behind a prismatic shield. He took several steps toward her before remembering he would never be able to reach her from this direction.

He gathered up the strands that led back to his own body and followed them. The return was not so meandering as the journey there had been. Indeed, no sooner had he resolved to return to his body than he was laying in his bed, blinking up at the ceiling. He ran his hands over his chest. How strange to have a true body again, to be in this world of physical people and objects, rather than one that shaped around him according to his will. It was a small wonder Reina struggled through disorientation each time he woke her.

Reina.

He lurched to his feet and stumbled out of his bedroom to the hall door. He shouldered it open, earning exclamations from beyond, and passed by Crownsguard, Clarus, and Crea on his way to Reina and Noctis' room. By the time he reached their door he had recovered enough of his senses to slow down and approach more quietly. He slipped into their room, finding all as it had been however long ago he had last been inside. Minutes? Hours? He knew not.

Reina slept with Chika the Chocobo tucked under her arm. Precisely as she had lain in the In Between. Regis lowered onto the edge of her bed, smoothing her hair back and pulling her blankets up to beneath her chin. Now that he could touch her, the irrationality of his actions caught up with him.

He had no reason to believe she would be in any state other than sleeping peacefully. He knew full well that his walls held, as he had seen then from the other side. It was difficult to appreciate the effectiveness of his wards, however, when they were keeping him away from what he so desperately sought to protect. He kissed her forehead and glanced toward the door, where Clarus and Crea both peered in.

He held a finger to his lips and pulled himself away from Reina's bedside. They would wish to know everything. His body cried out for sleep, but his mind worked so rapidly he knew it would never come. He might as well tell them what had passed.


	33. Secrets and Lies

"Do you believe him?"

They had retired to Regis' private lounge once more. On Clarus' suggestion, he had pulled on a dressing robe, which he had neglected in his half-nude flight down the hall. And, following the brief tale of Regis' encounter with Ardyn, they had sat in stunned silence. Until Clarus' question.

"Not an inch," Regis responded. "I can think of a dozen ulterior motives. Very little that he said makes sense to me. I fear I am no closer to understanding his goals than I was yesterday."

"Or to freeing Reina's nights?" Crea asked.

"Nor that," Regis agreed. "He said he might leave her alone if I gave his words due consideration. But I have no reason to believe he should do so. It seems all too likely that his true goal is to convince me to drop the wards that protect her. For now I must leave them in place."

Crea looked disappointed not, he suspected, because Reina would remain locked out of the In Between, but because her support of this venture had hinged on him sleeping again.

"But some good has come of it. Having experienced the walls from the other side, I feel confident that he cannot reach her as she currently is. If he attempted to breach them, I would be immediately aware."

Whether or not Ardyn had the power to successfully break the barrier remained to be seen.

Other than that, they were at an impasse. Whether he trusted Ardyn or not, Regis would be forced to consider what he had said, by mere virtue of the fact that new thoughts and ideas were rolling around in his head. There was no escaping the possibility that Bahamut would never leave them in peace, prophecy fulfilled or not. And there was nothing to be done, save wait. And think.

Days passed in this fashion. They had regular updates from the Kingsglaive team that travelled with Sylva and Lunafreya. Their progress was slow, but not completely impeded, and Sylva seemed optimistic that they would complete their mission. A week after their initial departure, they arrived at their first destination and began the arduous process of cleansing the Starscourge from those afflicted in the Outlands.

Regis was no closer to a decision on Ardyn. Reina was still locked out of the In Between and beginning to chafe at the restrictions he had placed on her. She didn't fully understand what they were for and he little knew how to explain to her. Eventually he was forced to admit that the only way to learn any more about Ardyn was to address the issue at its source.

Once more he laid down, not to sleep, but to walk the black landscape of the In Between. And once more he found Ardyn waiting for him.

"Have you made up your mind, _King_ Regis?" There was a peculiar emphasis that he put on the title each time he said it. As if he regarded it as a joke, or some thin pretense.

"No. I have not. And I shall not until I understand what you are and what you want. I will not ally myself with an unknown entity."

"But I am not unknown."

"So you have said," Regis said. "You claim to be Adagium, as in the tales, and yet you also insist the tales are wrong. What, then, am I to believe?"

Ardyn gave an elaborate shrug. "Whatever you like."

"Tell me the truth."

"Even if I did, you wouldn't believe it."

"I scarce believe that you are what you claim to be, so it leaves us in no worse a position."

Ardyn regarded him and Regis was struck with the uncomfortable sensation of being evaluated. At length he swept his hands out, as if presenting something, and a table and chairs appeared out of the nothingness of the In Between.

"Won't you join me for tea?" Ardyn smiled. What would have been an expression of welcome on any other face was instead repulsive on his. A tea tray sprung up in the center of the table at his words and he seated himself, pouring two cups of tea without waiting for Regis' response.

Sitting in a world of dreams having tea with the imperial chancellor.

Clarus would never believe him.

Regis sat, taking the offered cup of tea in his hands. The sensation was every bit as real and sharp as the physical world: the smooth porcelain beneath his palms, the heat of the steaming tea seeping through the cup, even the mild scent of black tea wafting between them. Yet he did not go so far as to taste the tea. Perhaps he was paranoid. But this world was at Ardyn's command; was it so absurd to imagine he might poison a dream tea as easily as he could a physical one?

Ardyn's eyes flicked from Regis' untasted tea to his face. He laughed and lifted his own cup to his lips, sipping with overdramatic delicacy.

He lowered his cup and fixed Regis with an unsettling stare. "Let me tell you a tale, _Your Majesty_ :

"Once upon a time, there lived two brothers. The eldest was a kind man who cared little for war, but preferred to solve problems from the lowest level. The younger brother was passionate and hot-headed; a powerful combatant who always played to his strengths. They lived in harsh times: a darkness was upon the world. It crept in the dead of night, consuming and corrupting with grasping fingers. While the youngest fought against it tooth and nail, pulling soldiers from all around and creating an army to combat the daemon threat, the eldest saw to the people. For he was blessed with a hitherto unheard of gift: he could cure the Starscourge.

"For this gift they called him The Healer. And they begged him to lead them. To protect them. Though he had no hunger for power or control, the opportunity was undeniable: as king, he could become a healer of all his lands and create a haven of light within the darkness. Nearly against his will, he accepted their adoration and ascended to kinghood. All that he laid hands on, henceforth, were cured of their darkness.

He extracted it from the land like venom from a wound. And the kingdom became light. Lucis.

"But as all gifts come with a cost. Where light shines, shadows grow longer. He purged the land of darkness not by blasting it away into oblivion… but by taking it into himself. The King of Light became darkness. For his people.

"When his younger brother saw what he had become, he leapt at the opportunity.

"'Daemon!' He decried, 'My brother is become a daemon!'

"And his words laid bare for all to see what the elder had become. Not merely a daemon. But a million daemons contained in one man. The heart of darkness beat within his breast and yet, despite all, he wished only to contain it. To protect them from it. He begged mercy of the gods. Bahamut's light could spare him. The great crystal could cleanse him. If only they would allow him to continue his work.

"But in place of mercy, they sent condemnation.

"'Daemon,' the Gods declared.

"'Daemon!' The people cried.

"Torches and blades, fire and steel, all were brought to bear against him. He was stuck like a pig for slaughter until his blood ran dry… and then black. The daemons within him took hold, no longer under lock and key. It was all the people could do to contain him. At his own brother's orders, he was imprisoned on an isle off the coast of the kingdom. And then forgotten.

"And so fell the healer of men. Into darkness and despair and madness. For death could not—would not—take him. The Starscourge consumed him and became him until the distinction between man and monster dissolved. What once had been a scattered darkness now pulsed with the life of a heart. _His_ heart. And there he remained for two thousand years, plotting his revenge."

The silence that fell after Ardyn's tale was absolute. The In Between had no ambient sound. Indeed, it had no sound at all, save what they imagined for themselves.

Regis gathered his wits and his voice.

"And this, you claim, is the true story of Adagium? Betrayed and locked away by his own brother?" He asked.

"Imprisoned for two millennia," Ardyn said. "A monster. But one of mankind."

"And his brother?" Regis asked."Your brother."

"Why, haven't you guessed? The _hero_ of the tale. The _beloved_ Founder King. _Somnus Lucis Caelum._ "

Regis struggled to put the pieces together. "Preposterous. That would make you..."

He stopped himself from finishing the sentence: Of royal blood. Had Regis, himself, not claimed that Ardyn must have Caelum magic to walk in the In Between? Had he, himself, not suggested that the imperial chancellor was, in fact, a lost Caelum wandered to Niflheim?

Ardyn rose, swept his hat off, and bowed low. "Ardyn Lucis Caelum. At your _humble_ service… _nephew._ "

Regis was on his feet as well, though he had scant recollection of having risen. "I do not believe it."

"Of course you don't." Ardyn shrugged. "Why would you ever question the perfect little lies passed down through your line through my brother? After all, he _was_ chosen by the Gods. You all were, weren't you? Right down to your precious Noctis, whose life they demand… And the Astrals would _never_ lie to you… would they?"

Regis backed away from the table. He would not stand here and listen to this filth any longer. It was absurd. A poorly-veiled attempt to blacken the Caelum name, to stir Regis' anger and turn him against all he had known.

Ardyn sighed and refilled his tea. "I don't know why I bother. I told you: you would never believe the truth, even if I laid it out before you."

Regis tore himself away from the In Between and returned to his body, leaving Ardyn to his imagined tea and ridiculous lies. They had to be lies. How could they not be?

The founding king, a betrayer. The true king, a healer locked away for his own sacrifice and turned daemon—no, turned to the very heart of the darkness they fought against. Bahamut may have had a black and white view of the world, but he would not have so easily condemned one who fought for him…

Would he?

Hadn't he already?


	34. The Truth

He must have slept, because he woke. And he woke, feeling no more rested nor in any firmer standing with regard to Ardyn and his motivations. The sky was as bleary and dark as ever, with no hint of dawn beyond the black clouds. Below, Insomnia was flooding in parts. The main drive of the Citadel was perpetual home to several inches of water. The guardhouse at the gate was lined with sandbags.

Regis pushed bedraggled hair from his face and turned away from the window. All his efforts thus far had been for survival. On weathering this storm, in the most literal sense, until Ramuh grew tired of his games. And when that time came, the next trial would emerge. And the next. Could Lucis truly survive the onslaught of three Astrals? Already they were floundering.

But what other choice did they have? Submit to the gods and live the dark future where Noctis was forced to give his life to save others? Regis failed to see any benefits to that, save the very immediate: that the storm would stop and they would see the sun again. For a time. It wasn't worth what would come after.

A treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispered: He did have another choice, though, did he not? He could kill Bahamut.

Kill Bahamut. Preposterous. As if a man could truly stand against a god.

And yet, would Ardyn have suggested it if there were no hope of success?

Wouldn't he have? His motivations were unclear at the best of times. And this tale of Adagium and Somnus… just as ridiculous as the rest. Kill a god. Impossible.

Unless he was telling the truth. That thought alone was more ridiculous than all the rest put together; he didn't want to believe it, but could he truly dismiss it offhand?

Regis dressed rapidly, leaving word of his destination with the Crownsguard outside before departing the royal levels. He made for the Citadel library. Not the small, private library on the royal levels, which were more often used for talking than reading, but the vast wells of Lucian knowledge contained in the public areas of the Citadel. If answers existed in Lucis, he would find them there.

It was mid morning before Clarus found him. Breakfast had passed without him and both his councilors and his family were wondering where he had gone. He was no closer to finding answers for any of his myriad questions: no family tree showed any hint of a second brother by the name of Ardyn. There was indication, in some very old texts, that something had been contained on Angelgard to be protected and presided over by the Caelum family. But accounts of that had disappeared during his grandfather's time and no word had ever been spoken to him of such a thing.

None of this was conclusive in either direction. If Ardyn was what he claimed to be, then perhaps the Mystic had scrubbed clean the Caelum family history. It would be only too easy for a king to hide away dark secrets in a closet and never speak of them again. They would be forgotten in time and the line would live on, thinking no worse for their false knowledge. Until now.

So the library had failed him. Perhaps it would yield secrets and inconsistencies if he delved deeply enough. But he had no time for such things and he dared not entrust the task to another.

And when living memory and records failed, he had but one place to turn.

The day passed in a flurry of familiarity: Lucis was washing away, food would be a scarcity this winter for the first time in hundreds of years, and morale in the Outlands—and within Insomnia—was at an all-time low. The rains would never end.

That night held in store one more excursion to the In Between. But this time, when he reached the great black emptiness of the world between worlds, he did not seek Ardyn, but Somnus.

It was difficult—although possible—to find a single king and call his spirit forth alone. Far easier to cast questions into the void and beg answers of one hundred Lucian voices. Tonight he sought only one voice.

"Somnus Lucis Caelum."

The Mystic.

The Founder King. But was he at all?

The shape The Mystic took was of his own making: the great spectral armor that all Lucii donned in the In Between. Now that Regis had walked the bleak and empty dreamscape, he began to understand that it was little more than that: an imagining from their own minds that they gave shape to in this world. They transformed into symbols and monoliths not due to some divine force taking hold and showing the warrior spirit held within flesh until death, but because they wished to be perceived that way.

It was a farce.

_:Regis Lucis Caelum. Speak and I will answer.:_

"I seek answers not from the Mystic," Regis said. "But from the man. Face me, then, as a man."

He imagined shape for himself and thus pulled his own soul into a body. He stood as he ever was: a son and a king and a father all wrapped into one. For a time he stood staring up at the fiery form of the Mystic. Would he bow to Regis' wishes? By rights the king was subject to the will of the Lucii and not the other way around. He could ask guidance and answers of his ancestors, but he did not command them. Perhaps summoning the Old Wall worked differently, but he hoped never to learn.

It might have been several minutes they stood, regarding each other in utter silence, each wondering whose will would break first.

Regis' held out.

The glowing form of the Mystic shimmered and shrank. With a blast of blue fire, he stood, transformed, before Regis: a symbol no longer, but a man. As a rule, the Lucii were rarely portrayed after death as anything but the spectral forms they chose for themselves. Any true paintings of Somnus Lucis Caelum had faded and been swallowed by history a thousand years ago. Had they not, Regis might have doubted Ardyn's story less.

Somnus was of a height with Regis. Though his hair was the same blue-black that had become a symbol of the royal family, he bore certain similarities to the Burgundy Man that could not be overlooked. The shape of his eyes and the cut of his nose held distinct and undeniable similarities. Indeed, their eyes were of the same hue, despite the differences in hair color.

But this was no proof of Ardyn's words. And shapes taken in the In Between could not be trusted.

"I seek the truth," Regis said. "Of Ardyn Lucis Caelum."

The shape Somnus had taken for himself was young. For all their history, Regis could not recall if he had lived to see old age, but the smoothness of his face betrayed him now, showing the crease between his brows and the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep from snarling.

"Where did you hear that name?"

In this form, he could not hide the tremor in his voice behind an augmented suit of armor.

Regis pressed his advantage. "From Adagium."

Again the flicker of doubt, the anger printed so clearly on his face—a face that could not have been much older than twenty. In daring to be youthful he had done himself disservice. Instead he appeared merely inexperienced. Two thousand years should have taught him better and yet…

Family always brought out a peculiar side of people.

"It is true, then," Regis said.

"Everything that man tells you is a lie."

"Is that so? And yet, I have given no indication of what he has said. That you have leapt already to a conclusion implies that you already know. And how could you, save if you had lived the tale he told?" Regis asked.

"He has spread these lies before."

"Has he? Though records indicate that he was freed either in my father's time or my grandfather's time. If such things have come to light before, why have they not been discussed and passed down? Why hide away the truth, save when it is shameful?"

"The truth has not been hidden: Adagium is a monster and I sealed him away, as history indicates."

"No," Regis said. "Stories indicate that you locked away a monster. Children's tales. Not history passed from king to king. While the wisdom of the ages accompanies the Ring of the Lucii, this point is a blank. Until now, I had assumed Adagium did not exist, yet you have confirmed he does. Why, then should this _history_ be hidden?"

Somnus had no response. He turned away from Regis as if he would leave; Regis groped for the line of magic that had allowed him to summon the old king and held tight to it. Somnus jerk backed as if pulled and rounded on him, a true snarl on his face this time.

"You dare keep me here?"

"I will have the truth," Regis said.

But with a slow sinking, like settling into thick mud, he realized he already knew it. He released his hold on Somnus and sighed.

"I thought to give you a chance to tell a different perspective of the story. Now I have only Ardyn's and I must believe the worst of you. Of our family."

Somnus turned away from him, but did not disappear into the In Between. He was silent for too long to hope. When he did speak, it was quiet and subdued, all hint of pretense and anger dissolved.

"The worst is true."

It was more than Regis had expected. He waited, hoping that wasn't the end of the tale.

"I can only surmise what my brother has told you," Somnus said. "And perchance two thousand years of aging in bitterness and hatred have turned his memories darker, but I can hardly imagine a lie worse than the truth. For the truth is that I betrayed my own brother, turned my back on my own flesh and blood.

"When I might have saved him, I instead scrambled for the crown. Even now I wonder at it. Did my hunger for power truly run so deeply that it drove me to run a sword through my own brother's chest? Did I truly have him imprisoned? The rightful King of Lucis? The one chosen by Ring and Crystal? Could my own childish jealousy truly have driven me to such heinous depths?

"In the darkness of death, I tell myself no. But this is little more than a lie to make sleepless purgatory less of a torture than it already is. I deserve no less. By my own hand was my brother driven to darkness, destruction, madness. The same should be true of me."

Regis stood, stunned by the weight of his confession. His hold on his physical shape slipped. They were now nothing more than two souls entwined. With such nearness in the baring of Somnus' soul, Regis could not help but feel the raw pain of his still-simmering guilt.

So it was true.

_It is all true._ Somnus' words pressed into his mind, no longer spoken, but known.

The Founder King was a fraud. The rightful title, taken from Ardyn Lucis Caelum, who had instead been demonized and cast aside, where he had eventually fallen into darkness and madness.

With a will, he pulled away from Somnus. The touch of his soul was unbearable. All that Regis knew of himself, of his bloodline, of his own royal heritage was built upon a foundation of lies. He fled, heedless of where he went, and landed, shapeless, in the In Between. Somnus' spirit evaporated without the anchor of Regis' consciousness to hold to. And he was alone.

He rebuilt his body. Even here in the In Between his hands quivered. The Founder King indeed. The Betrayer was more accurate.

"I am so sorry," he whispered to the In Between. "It means nothing, I know. Two thousand years too late and too little at that. Had I known before…"

If he had known, then what? What would he have done differently in his life? Did it matter?

"And now that you do know…" Ardyn stepped out of the In Between. Black wisps of fog clung to his body as it formed. "What will you do?"

"Set history right." Regis clenched his fists at his sides and drew himself up. He was king: Whether by right or betrayal, it had come to this. He was king. "Let the Caelum family shelter the dirty secret of our forebear no longer."

"Oh? And if I should come forward, as the rightful King of Lucis?"

He could. By rights, he had more claim to the throne than Regis, did he not? Shouldn't Lucis fall back into his hands, now that the truth was revealed?

But no.

Regis shook his head. "On behalf of my ancestor, I regret what was done to you. But I fear you are no longer fit to rule. Though it should never have come to pass, the truth is that you have been corrupted and perverted not only by the Starscourge, but by your own hatred."

"Are you calling me mad?"

"You are quite mad, Ardyn," Regis said.

Ardyn tipped his hat and bowed. When he straightened, the grin on his face vanished and a look of intensity replaced it. "I don't want your apologies or your pity. I want you to help me kill Bahamut."

"And on that front I am still unable to grant you an answer. The risks are high for myself and my kingdom, should I choose to oppose him so directly. I dare not commit so lightly, whatever the truth of your existence may be."

"Well, since you've proven yourself so open minded with my last little truth, perhaps I can let you in on another secret. One that might sway your mind to my cause," Ardyn said. "Observe."

He swept his hand as if displaying something beneath them. Before Regis could object that one world-shattering secret revealed was enough for one night, the blackness beneath his feet had dropped away. Instead he found himself standing in the air, as if looking down through a glass floor at a grand city below, the likes of which he had never seen before.

"Solheim," Ardyn supplied. "Before they grew so bold as to challenge the gods. But when they _dared_ show independence from one who had guided and coaxed them along from sticks and stones to grand spires…"

The image beneath them shifted. Fire rained down around them. In the midst of the inferno stood Ifrit, unmoved by the havoc he wrought upon those below.

"They fought back, as humans will do…" Ardyn said as machines the size of titans rose up into the air to challenge the Infernian. "And perhaps they would have succeeded and all our lives would have been much simpler. Alas, they underestimated the lengths to which the Astrals would go to punish their hubris."

The other five of the Hexatheon joined the conflict. Where once only fire had rained down, so too came bolts of lightning, shards of ice, and a wave tall enough to level the city. Though the earth shook beneath them and around them, the Solheimnians still fought. Though their city was shattered, their machines turned to rusted heaps, the Solheimnians still fought.

If this was meant to convince him to defy the gods, it was not working.

Bahamut came forward. Until that moment, he had hung in the center of the Hexatheon, unmoving in observation. Now he took to the forefront, pulling all light from the world until Solheim was as black as the In Between. For a moment Regis thought that was the end of the vision. But still the blackness beneath their feet moved: a living thing. It swept about in patches like black fog.

Miasma.

At length Regis could glimpse greater detail through the blackness: people still moved, but where once they had stood proud—if failing—against the will of the Astrals, they now cowered. Their skin was pale as death, their eyes greyed over and glazed in unseeing gazes. Black veins throbbed beneath their skin and horrible rattling coughs racked their bodies.

"Starscourge," Regis whispered, startling to find he still had a voice.

The Starscourge had been inflicted on mankind by Bahamut himself.

The visions faded to blackness. Once more he found himself standing before Ardyn in the In Between. Once more he found his world turned on its head.

"So tell me, _King_ Regis," Ardyn said, "Still thinking of siding with the gods? Still think this isn't your fight to take up?"

His mind buzzed. Despite all he no longer knew, he held tight to himself. His identity, his core. He was King of Lucis, whether his ancestor had come by the title rightly or not. And he would not strike a bargain from a place of panic and confusion.

"I need time to think," Regis said.

Ardyn scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, by all means, go on pondering. I'm sure Lucis won't drown under the Fulgarian's onslaught before you make up your mind."

Before Regis could think of a response to that, he was gone. And Regis was left standing alone in the In Between once more. He followed the strand of magic back to his body and woke in his bed, restless and without any sense of having slept at all. Indeed, he had not. For a jaunt to the In Between was not the same as a night's rest.

The grandfather clock indicated he still had most of the night remaining to try. Not that he had any expectation of sleep tonight. He rose and crossed to the bathroom to splash cold water on his clammy face and neck. It did little to wash away the dirty feeling of having lived too many lies for too many years.

Was it possible that Ardyn was lying about the Starscourge? He was manipulative and cunning. He was utterly mad. It wasn't beyond him to fabricate a story to sway Regis to his side. That he had told the truth the first time did not make him incapable of lying the second time. Nevertheless, the thought had not crossed Regis' mind in the In Between. Was that, too, of Ardyn's devising?

He looked at himself in the mirror. Though centuries had changed their family nearly beyond resemblance, he could not help but see Ardyn in the shape of his own nose. Mere happenstance, perhaps. Or some trick of his own mind. All the same, the fact remained: Ardyn was—though two thousand years removed—his uncle.


	35. Retaliation

Despite his assurances to Crea that a better understanding of Reina's barrier had given him the confidence to sleep through the night, Regis had no reprieve that night. No rest. His world was overturned and his mind roiled with too many uncomfortable possibilities. When dawn came—dim and watery though it was—he was no more well-rested than he had been for the past several days.

When had he last slept through the night? He couldn't recall.

It was a dangerous state to be in as king. Whatever he told Crea and Clarus regarding his sleep deprivation, he recognized that. Nevertheless, he had tasks that needed to be seen to and he could not bring himself to face the thought of returning to bed in any case. He was beginning to understand how Reina could both fear and revere her Dreams.

With Avun's help, he dressed and set out from his rooms to face the day. Though Crea, Clarus, and Weskham all regarded him with looks of pursed-lipped worry, they seemed willing to hold their tongues for the time being. The first, at least, he could handle. He even welcomed the concern Crea held for him; it served as a quiet reminder of her care for him, however they hid it away from day to day. But to be fussed over by a beautiful woman was considerably different than being fussed over by one's brothers.

To Weskham and Clarus, however, he owed an explanation. He had no others he could give it to. And though what he had learned would doubtless shake them near as much as it had shaken him, he could not keep these secrets from them. Not now that they had come to light.

He pulled them aside, along with Cor and Cid, carving a few moments of time out of his too-full schedule for a private conversation with his retinue. And he told all: from his conversations with Ardyn to Somnus' confession to the visions of Solheim that Ardyn had conjured up. When he had finished, they sat in silence, looking at no one.

Weskham was the first to break the silence. "Is there nowhere you can turn for verification on this second tale?"

"No one knows the true origin of the Starscourge," Clarus said.

"Save for the Astrals themselves," Regis said.

Clarus looked sharply up at him. "You mean to ask the Draconian or the Fulgarian who—even now—lays waste to your kingdom whether or not they created the scourge? That is folly."

Regis leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "I have merely given the answer to Weskham's question. We have no written records stretching back to Solheim. It is true that some ruins of their city survive in Lucis today, but our chances of finding what we seek contained within is slim to the point of impossibility. For obvious reasons I find it unlikely that a dying man scratched 'the Astrals created the plague' into a temple wall for the sake of future generations."

"Even if they had, what good does that do us?" Cor asked. "We can't send people to scour every ruin in search of clues. The roads are washed out, the Outlands are in chaos, and we need every available worker—soldier or otherwise—to fight against this storm. We can't afford to spend any more time doing research. I don't trust this man any more than the rest of you, but he is the enemy of our enemy. I say side with him. Side with him and use whatever power he has at his disposal to stop this damn storm before all of Lucis is washed away."

"Your frustrations are well founded," Clarus said. "But it is not so simple. The true enemy is not the storm but the Starscourge. And whatever its origin, it is clear that the scourge is embodied in Ardyn."

Thus far, Sylva's reports from the Outlands were not heartening. Ravus had warned that the Starscourge was more prevalent than they were aware of, and what information he had gathered had passed to his mother. Nevertheless, she still struggled to round up the afflicted and cure them in the midst of this storm. Progress was being made, but it was slow. How long would it be before she returned with good news?

"But if the scourge has truly been created by the Astrals, does that not mean we should stand against them?" Regis asked.

"Then we return to the question of confirmation," Clarus said. "As I dare not take anything Ardyn says as truth without additional proof."

A knock came to the door of Regis' study.

"Your Majesty! Lookouts report imperial ships descending on the city!"

Now, of all times?

"I thought we had negotiated a ceasefire." Clarus was on his feet; the others hastened to do the same.

"We had." Regis followed a moment after, ignoring the protest of his tired mind and body. "And then we invaded Tenebrae and took custody of the Oracle and her daughter."

Clarus yanked the door open and held it for Regis. One by one they filed out of his study. With Regis in the lead, they set a course for the war room.

"He _gave them_ to us," Cor objected.

He had. Every arrangement in the manor had reeked of Ardyn's touch and Ardyn had allowed them to walk free with Sylva and Lunafreya. Almost as an olive branch. But from whom had the branch come? Not the empire, it seemed.

"I suspect the chancellor is no longer on an imperial leash," Regis said.

"If he ever was," Clarus said.

Several of the councilors along with Captain Ulric were already assembled when they arrived. Ulric stood at attention with a stiffness even Cor must have admired.

"A dozen Magitek transport engines are en route to Insomnia, Your Majesty," he said. "As of yet, we don't know what's on board, but whatever it is, there are a lot of them."

Twelve Magitek engines. So it was to be a full scale invasion.

"Cannons?" Clarus asked.

"Six of them, sir."

Regis' face felt cold. Blackness threatened the edges of his vision, as if in anticipation of what was to come. Six siege cannons when he had struggled against only one. Clarus turned to him, perhaps hoping for confirmation that he could hold the Wall against such a force, yet Regis had no assurance to give. Never had he been so keenly aware of his sleep deprivation as now, when it mattered most.

"Ulric," Regis said. "Prepare to deploy the Kingsglaive. The cannons are your primary target. The more of them you destroy, the longer Insomnia will hold out as a safe haven for your people to retreat to."

"They won't make it easy on us, Your Majesty," Ulric said.

"I daresay they won't," Regis agreed. "Nevertheless, we must try or all will be lost. General Lexentale, the army will aid the Glaive in this endeavor. The Kingsglaive takes point: you may debate strategy but Captain Ulric's word is final."

"Of course, Sire."

"Perhaps we should depart?" Clarus suggested.

"I shall need to know what direction they approach from: if they seek to focus all power to one spot, our strategy will differ from a more diffuse attack," Regis said.

"I will see to it that information is delivered to you as soon as we have it," Clarus said.

The only thing that kept him from taking Regis' arm and leading him away like an unruly child was the fact that they were standing before Regis' subjects. On that point alone, Regis might have resisted. But if they struck with six cannons while he still stood before his councilors he would have greater problems than appearing an unruly child.

"Come, Clarus." Regis turned on his heel and headed for the door. "Captain Ulric: with all due haste."

They walked in silence through busy halls. As word of the pending invasion spread, the Citadel grew more lively. By the time the first shots were fired it would be full chaos, but Regis intended to be well away from view by that time.

"Can you hold them off?" Clarus asked in an undertone.

"For a time," Regis said with confidence he did not feel. That time might be less than a minute if all six struck simultaneously.

When they reached the lift to the royal levels, Clarus hesitated outside.

"Go," Regis said. "See to affairs in my absence. I daresay I will not be able to for long."

"I'll send Weskham to you," he said.

It would matter very little who he sent, if the Magitek cannons were not dealt with in sufficient time. Nevertheless, he sensed this was a compromise Clarus required for his own well-being. He accepted it.

He rode the lift to the top floor of the Citadel, which was quiet and empty. Noctis and Reina were out and about their daily activities, whatever that might have entailed. Let them enjoy the day as much as they could before Niflheim struck. For a moment he stood in the deserted lounge and imagined their distress and fear as the first shots were fired. The last time Niflheim had attacked the city directly, it had been a nightmare for them. Though, he reflected, perhaps his own weakness had scared them more than the cannons.

Grim thoughts of frightened children would get him nowhere. They were older now, all but capable of taking care of themselves. They would be fine. If he could hold the Wall.

If he could hold the Wall.

He withdrew to his chambers. From the window, he could see the distant shape of Magitek Engines growing nearer to the city. He was standing there, still watching, when someone knocked on his door. Weskham entered when bidden and came to stand beside him.

"Clarus fears you won't hold out long against their full force," Weskham said.

For some reason that rankled him. It was the truth and they all knew it, but having it spoken to him as if he needed to be told where his limits were, struck a cord. This was Insomnia and he was its protector. Not for the sake of the Crystal or the will of the Astrals, but because it was his home and his kingdom. His children lived here. He would protect them with every ounce of strength that remained to him.

"Then he had best see to it that their full force does not come against me, for I intend to hold as long as is necessary."

"Good intention will only get you part way to success."

"And if my strength does not carry me the rest of the way, determination and will shall." He rounded on Weskham. "If you have been listening to Clarus' tales of how weak and infirm I have become, then you have been wasting your time. I have more strength than ever."

"And you haven't slept in days."

That, at least, was true. An uncomfortable truth, to be certain. He turned away from Weskham. "I will hold."

"It isn't weakness to admit you're human, Regis. You have some time left. Rest now, while you have the chance."

He had grown more bold in Altissia. Perhaps it wasn't a negative development, but in the moment Regis struggled to see it as anything else. Ten years ago he would never have spoken so candidly. That had been left to Clarus.

"I will rest when my kingdom is safe. You may go."

Beside him, Weskham stiffened but did not move. "Regis—"

"I do not require a nursemaid at this time. If I have need of you, I will call. Leave me."

Weskham did not attempt to press his luck further. He took the second dismissal as it came and withdrew from Regis' rooms, leaving him to watch the steady approach of the Magitek Engines alone. In time they grew near enough to count their numbers individually and not long after that, blue streaks of Regis' own magic lit their ranks.

He clenched his fists at his sides. He should have been out there with them. The Glaives possessed his magic and were well trained in it, but they could only ever reach a shadow of his power. If only he could have released the Wall and joined them. Unleashed the true strength of Lucis upon his enemies.

But no. His place was here. Protecting the kingdom and his family. Providing safe harbor for those men and women who braved the fight.

The battle was neither quick nor clean. The imperials dropped ship loads of Magitek soldiers and armors to fight Lucis' Glaives and army. The invading force was in the cannons. All the rest were simply to fight off what Lucis threw at them. And it was working.

Eventually Avun arrived to deliver a lunch tray. Regis had no appetite for it, but, as no one tried to stand around telling him he should eat it, he did so. Whatever he said to Weskham, he needed his strength. But he could not even begin to think of resting at a time like this. He ate as much as he could convince himself to and fell to pacing the length of his private lounge, watching explosive bursts of his own magic crash against the Magitek Engines outside.

Another knock came to the door. Avun, in all likelihood, come to collect his dishes.

"Enter."

The door opened, then shut again. Behind him, soft footsteps—ill fitting his attendant—sounded on the marble floor. He turned. Crea stood in the entryway of the lounge. He stopped pacing.

"My children?" He asked.

"Worried, but holding up," she said. "Noctis is with Gladiolus and Ignis. Reina is with her retinue at the center of a knot of courtiers. I think she's as nervous as they are, but she's playing the stoic princess well and lending courage to them."

She would do well in the kingdom—a breath of calm in the chaos of changing times.

If they survived this attack.

"And you?" Regis asked.

Crea gave a laugh with more of fear than mirth behind it. "I'm shaking in my shoes. Look—" She held out her hands flat and palm down. They shook until she clenched them tight.

Regis crossed the room to her and gathered her up in his arms. No Crownsguard here to see them. No servants to whisper rumors in the halls. Just the plain fact that they were known to be alone in his rooms.

Did it matter, if they died here today?

"We shall be alright," he said, as much to himself as to her.

She curled into his chest. A tremor ran through her body and it was all he could do to drag his hands over her arms as if to warm her. But it wasn't the chill air that made her shake.

"Can I sit with you for a while?" She asked.

"I fear I won't be much comfort once they reach the Wall."

"I know." She pulled away from him enough to look into his eyes. He read the truth there on her face: it was him she feared for more than herself. He could think of nothing to say to that, so he merely held her tighter.

They stood that way for a time before Regis guided her to the sofa and sat down beside her. She leaned against his chest and followed his gaze out the window where the battle raged on, closer now. It was only a matter of time. But if he had to await his doom, at least he could do so with Crea in his arms.


	36. Regroup

The next thing he knew was pain. The shattering of cannon fire against his mind. Then came the booming blasts: loud enough to wake a dead man despite their distance. He jerked upright, his muddled mind struggling to put details together even as his subconscious scrambled to repair the damage done to the Wall. He had been asleep, though he had no recollection of having intended to nap, and he had lain along the couch, propped against Crea who even now sat forward and braced her hands on his back.

They were here.

That was all the time he had to consider before a second volley of shots shattered across the Wall. They were focused in one place—too many shots to be from a single cannon, but he couldn't spare an ounce of thought for how many. If he could divert strength from other parts of the Wall then perhaps. Perhaps he could hold a little bit longer. But if there were too few focused here he had no notion of whether those other cannons would attack elsewhere.

The physical world seemed to fade to a silent backdrop on which he waged war. He was distantly aware of his body sitting on the couch, hunched over his knees with Crea's hands on his shoulders. But more potent was his sense of the Wall. As rapidly as he patched cracks, they came again. One blow after another. More than once, two shots in rapid succession nearly brought the Wall down. If he could hold out. If he could just hold out against this barrage, perhaps they would be convinced that the Wall was invincible. Perhaps they would leave.

But to hold out he needed strength and his reserves were draining rapidly. As quickly as he poured power into the Wall it was devoured, soaked up by cracks to mend the damage. He reached for more power and found the bottom of his reserves. Run dry. All he had left to give was his life.

And still the Magitek cannons fired.

If they broke through, everyone would die anyway. Regis would be the first among them.

If Regis killed himself maintaining the Wall, it would fall anyway.

He reached for his lifeblood—he had to try something—and was distantly aware of hands grasping him. Power surged around him. Like the push of a powerful wave, it nearly swept him off his feet. Save for the hands holding onto him, he would have been lost in it.

_Take ours, Father. Take our mana._

Through the bonds that held him to Reina, he heard her voice. He was aware of both twins standing with him, not physically, but in spirit. Their souls were so tightly bound together that they almost appeared to be one. His own energy was drained dry and, just as Reina had stood and extended an offer of her own mana to him after he had warped across from Tenebrae, so did they both offer now.

But at what cost? If any of them survived this, they would be as drained and exhausted as he was in the aftermath. His own children. He had vowed not to use them for Lucis.

_Take it, Father!_

Another volley of shots struck the Wall. Regis had no mana left to repair the damage, but he was bound to the barrier, body and soul. It sucked the strength it needed from him, whether he had it to give or not. Distantly, he was aware of the involuntary cry he gave as the Wall dragged his own lifeblood from him.

_Father!_

It took all the strength that was left to him to reach out and take her offer. Energy flooded through him, a burning torrent that left his veins raw in its wake. The raw, untamed, youthful energy of his children poured into his empty reserves and washed over the cracked Wall, mending every fracture in its wake. Between the two of them, they had nearly enough to fill his reserves. Energy that he had not known in so long filled him up and took him over.

But they were young. Still growing and hardly aware of what they gave. Their concept of where mana ended and life began was blurry and uncertain, and as the Magitek cannons rained down fire, both twins reached the end of their own pools. And kept giving.

_Enough._ Regis severed the ties they had extended to him. If they were harmed it was his own fault. His own fault for accepting what they offered in the first place.

But he could not think of that now, or everything they had fought for would be lost.

He knew not for how long he struggled onward, repairing the Wall and protecting his city. Time lost all meaning. He floated, an indistinct form lost in a wash of mana while the world passed around him unnoticed.

The next thing he had awareness of was coming to consciousness in his bed, though he had certainly not been there when last he recalled. He was alone. His suit was still in place, though the more cumbersome piece of his formalwear had been removed: his shoes, his collar, his cape and pauldron.

Through a hazy fog of exhaustion he reached out for his children. He could feel them, as drained and exhausted as he was, not far away. The Wall still stood. They were alive. Some things, at least, had worked out. For now.

Footsteps sounded outside his room. The door opened and Regis found he scarcely had the strength to turn his head to look.

"Your Majesty?" It was Avun. "Are you awake?"

"Unfortunately."

Avun pushed his way into the room, bearing a tray. "Miss Vinculum gave express instructions that you were to eat as soon as you stirred."

Of course she had. And had she not also made her way into his rooms before the imperials arrived and somehow coerced him to sit down with her. Because she was frightened, of course. Not because he had needed to rest.

He couldn't find the will to be irritated with that. Where Clarus and Weskham had failed by emphasizing his weakness, she had succeeded by playing to his pride and vanity. Of course she had.

Regis couldn't bring himself to look at the tray of food that Avun set on his bedside table. He could smell it. That was more than enough.

"Where is Crea?"

As soon as he asked the question he realized it was an error. She was a nanny. And while she was also so much more, he had no reason to be thinking first of her whereabouts when he woke. He had no reason to be thinking about her whereabouts at all.

"She left to see to their Highnesses and did not return, Sire. Presumably her attention has been called elsewhere."

There was a hint of a reprimand in that last statement, whether Avun intended it or not. He was right. Crea had many duties and none of them involved seeing to the king. That was Avunculus' job.

He hauled himself upright. With Avun's help, he managed to prop himself amongst his pillows in a more or less sitting position. Once he was there, he wasn't certain he wanted to be. The world was spinning and blurring on the edges. His skin felt cold.

His eyes drifted unsteadily toward the tray on his side table. It contained a glass of orange juice and a plate of eggs, sausage, and toast. An assortment of fruit was also laid out. Was it breakfast time? What time had it been the last time he had been cognizant? He couldn't recall.

Regis turned away from the breakfast tray. "My children?"

"Resting, Sire. Not long after the barrage began, both of them collapsed in their respective parts of the Citadel. It caused quite a stir, Your Majesty. Young Gladiolus and my nephew brought Prince Noctis back here. It took longer for Princess Reina to be extracted from the graces of the courtiers, but she was returned to her bed as well. No one quite knew what to do, Sire. There was quite a panic."

And Regis, meanwhile, had been just as comatose and unresponsive. It was a chaos he should have been present to quell.

"Doctors were called for, but when it was established that they were in fine physical health, Miss Vinculum instructed that they be left to rest—and yourself as well—and requested that food be prepared and ready when each of you woke, Your Majesty."

That seemed more in line with Weskham's tasks. Yes, Regis had dismissed him rather harshly before the battle had come to Insomnia, but he should still have been lurking outside. Now that he considered, it was odd that Avun was here and Weskham was not. Nor Clarus.

"Where is Weskham?"

"Ah. Well, Sire. After the imperials began to fire on the Wall, Master Amicitia called together Master Armaugh, Master Sophair, and Marshal Leonis. They left the city to supplement the Kingsglaive."

"They _what_?" Regis sat full upright. His head spun with the effort but he shoved the weakness inside. "Have they returned?"

"Not yet, Sire."

Regis swung his legs out of bed. Damn fools. Leaving without so much as a word to him—never mind the fact that he had been insensible at the time—and charging headfirst into danger. Those years were behind them. They were all too damn old to be running around with the Kingsglaive trying to knock Magitek cannons out of the sky.

"Sire—!" Avun lurched forward as Regis put his weight on his legs.

It was just as well that he did. No sooner was he upright than the dizziness in his head transformed into a spinning room. The fuzziness at the edge of his vision became blackness, which threatened to engulf everything. His legs buckled. Avunculus caught him and heaved him back onto the edge of his bed.

"Perhaps you should have a bite of breakfast, Sire?" Avun suggested.

"Perhaps." Regis blinked at his vision cleared.

"I should be happy to send word anywhere you require."

Much as he hated it, that was probably wiser than Regis attempting to go himself.

Regis settled back onto his bed, lifting his legs up first and easing back against the pillows. Winded just from trying to stand up. What was he coming to?

"I want you to check on my children first. See that they're looked after."

"Of course, Sire."

"Then bring me whatever word there is from the front. Any news we have received of Captain Ulric, the Glaive, or my retinue."

"Yes, Sire."

"And find out what has become of Crea, if she is not with my children."

"Yes, Sire."

He waved Avun away, out of words for the moment. Once he was gone, Regis lifted the breakfast tray onto his lap and picked listlessly at the contents. The grandfather clock informed him that it was, indeed, what passed for breakfast time. Had he slept through the night? It had been afternoon when he had sat down in the lounge with Crea, certainly.

It took some time for Avun to return with tidings from the outside world, which left no excuses for Regis not to finish his meal. After the tray was emptied, he fought the urge to rise and pace because trying and failing was a worse indignity than remaining bed-bound like an invalid.

And so, when Avun did return, Regis was still sitting in bed, propped against his pillows and searching for some way to occupy his mind without moving.

"Report," Regis said, fighting impatience at the extended bow Avun gave. It was not his fault that Regis had given more than he had to sustain the Wall and now paid for it.

"Their Royal Highnesses continue to sleep; to all appearances they are comfortable and several attendants await any sign of stirring from them. I have made it clear that you are to be informed if either of them wakes."

He disliked that they slept still while he had woken, but when he touched his magic to theirs he found the same thing he had sensed before: they were exhausted and drained but unharmed. If only there had been no need for them to be drained in the first place. He was not yet sure if he regretted accepting their aid.

"News from beyond the Wall is scarce, but since yesterday afternoon, the developments are these: It appears that the Kingsglaive was able to remove two Magitek cannons from commission before they reached the Wall. Doing so cost them heavy casualties, for it required them to focus their attention on the cannons with little regard for the attacking force. They retreated to regroup while the cannons fired on the Wall. While you were indisposed, Master Amicitia took command; he redeployed the Glaive and accompanied them along with an elite task force, intending to eliminate more of the cannons. Though the barrage persisted for what we can only imagine is the full length of their ability, Master Amicitia and the others did succeed in decommissioning one more Magitek cannon during their retreat. Though the Glaive and task force attempted to follow, the remaining cannons succeeded in retreating to a safe distance while the invading force kept our troops occupied. They have been attempting to push through and reach the cannons ever since."

"When did they retreat?" Regis asked.

"It was near midnight, Sire."

Midnight they had retreated and it was now full morning? They would be returning at any moment and he was far from recovered.

"And there has been no word from Clarus and the others since then?" Regis asked.

"Some reports have come through, Sire, but without additional progress. They seem to be held well in check by the imperial soldiers."

Damn. And all of this while Sylva battled the Starscourge in the Outlands and Ramuh showered the wrath of the Astrals upon them. Lucis was besieged on three sides and unlikely to receive any breathing space. If only the Astrals and the Starscourge ran as rampant in Niflheim as they did in Lucis. Perhaps then they would have been too busy in their own lands to be concerned with Regis'.

Avun cleared his throat. "As for your final request, Sire: it would appear that Miss Vinculum has become embroiled in the court."

Regis sat upright. "The court?"

"Yes, Sire. I fear they would have snagged me as well, had I not pled an urgent mission from you. They are hungry for news and concerned for the health of the royal family, especially as Princess Reina collapsed before several of them, and Miss Vinculum is placating them."

If anyone had the patience to deal with a hoard of overgrown children, it was Crea. Still, he pitied her. That had rather become Reina's position, these past few months, and she seemed to enjoy it for whatever reason. Evidently when the princess was not available, the nanny sufficed.

Though that did give rise to another question.

"Where is Prince Ravus?"

"With Master Amicitia and the others, Sire."

As if this day needed more ill news. He and his children were bed-bound, all of them had insufficient strength to face the pending second wave, and not only his retinue—his friends and brothers—had left the city to face this threat in his stead, but so too had the prince of Tenebrae—a guest in his kingdom. It was not the place he would have chosen for Ravus. Then again, perhaps it was best Regis had not been consulted. Ravus was a capable, if restless, young man. Having him prowling the Citadel feeling useless would have done none of them any favors.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Sire?" Avun asked.

Regis shook his head mutely and cast his eyes out the window, where he thought he could see distant blue flashes of Kingsglaive magic well beyond the Wall.

Avun collected Regis' breakfast tray and departed, leaving him to his thoughts and, eventually, to his rest. He would have little time to gather his strength and would need every ounce he could salvage. He took some comfort in the knowledge that Clarus and the others had taken down one more Magitek cannon since the last wave. Four had drained him and his children dry. Three might be doable. Though not with all their reserves empty.

He slept.

And when he woke it was to the same shattering pain and booming blows of Magitek cannons striking the Wall. For an instant he was aware of the physical world: the cry that was dragged from his lungs, and echoing shouts outside his door in the hall. Then all that faded and he was drawn once more into a flurry of magic and frantic repairs.

He had very little energy restored for those few hours of recovery. It seemed as if twelve hours of rest should have afforded him more strength, but in moments he was scraping the bottom of his reserves once more. The Magitek cannons struck all in one place, one after another. Regis reserved what little energy he had and instead diverted strength from other parts of the Wall to that point, strengthening only where they struck at the cost of the remaining Wall. It was a risk. If they struck elsewhere, the Wall would shatter before he could repair it. But if he ran out of energy before they did, it would fall all the same.

Distantly he recognized the sensation of hands gripping his body. At the same time, strength flooded into him and he was cognizant of the nearness of his children: silent, but lending their energy to him. He took it. They had no time for his regrets or debates on the morality of using his children to protect Lucis. He did it to protect them as much as the kingdom.

Their magic twisted up with his, forming braids where once there had been only strands. The last time they had poured their power into his reserves and it had become his own magic. They time he drew it from them, guiding their youthful strength to fuel the net that supported the Wall.

_Here._ He showed them. _The cracks form and we fill them once more with magic. Fill them smoothly, without bumps or breaks. Flaws are weakness and we cannot afford weakness beneath this onslaught._

He felt more than heard their assent. As they learned to guide their magic under his direction, each blow was less of a drain on him. The Wall still dragged at him. He felt every strike of Magitek against his magic as the barrier drew strength from him to sustain itself. But while the Wall sucked energy from Regis, his children filled in the cracks and made it whole again. He took comfort in the knowledge that at least they did not feel the pain of every shot fired against Insomnia.

The pain was the last thing he knew, for a time. When he woke once more it was dark, save for the flickering of firelight, and he was not alone in his bed. Reina and Noctis had taken to his side and now lay curled in his arms. As if he could shelter them from Niflheim's attack. But no longer. They understood the price he paid for the Wall now, perhaps better than any other, save himself.

He resettled himself among his pillows and lay there for a time, too tired to move but too rested to fall back asleep. Eventually the hall door opened and someone crept inside. Regis peeled one eye open to look to his bedroom door as it, too, cracked open. Avunculus peered in. His eyes swept over Regis—half awake and committed to neither—and the children still sleeping in his arms.

"Sire," he whispered, "Miss Vinculum has come to report, if you are feeling well enough to receive her."

Crea? Report?

For a moment his fuzzy mind struggled to make sense of the statement. A pretense, perhaps, but whatever it was, he could drag himself upright for Crea's sake. Even if it was her fault he had laid down in the first place.

"Help me to my feet," Regis said. It was permitted to admit weakness to one's attendant. That was, after all, precisely why Avun was present: to fill in any cracks in Regis' exterior and make it appear as if he had none.

It took some effort. Indeed, it would not have been possible to smooth over Regis' exterior and make him fit to be seen by the public. But Crea was a different matter altogether. So Avun helped Regis out to his private lounge, promising to bring dinner, and Regis sat in his shirt sleeves and wondered if it wouldn't be worth simply napping here.

Avun withdrew. Before the door could shut behind him, Crea slipped inside, with Avun at her heels making sounds of objection. Regis waved him off. Ever proper. If only there had been no need to stand on ceremony with her: she could have woken him instead of Avun.

She looked harried. Though all that dissolved away as she came to stand before him, looking over her shoulder to see that Avun had withdrawn and shut the door behind him.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"Wonderful," he lied flatly. "I wonder… if you would pour me some water from that pitcher?"

She did so, drawing closer to pass the glass to him. He brushed his fingers over hers as he took it from her and she granted him a smile. She didn't withdraw.

"Reina and Noctis?" She asked.

"Asleep still, thankfully. They are young. I suspect they shall recover more easily than I." Regis drank deeply from his water, parched as if from a marathon.

"Then they were helping you?" She made it a question.

"Yes, though it shames me to admit I accepted their aid." He tilted his head back against his armchair and looked up at her. "But it was necessary. I do not believe I could have held against either attack without their aid."

"I'm just glad they were able to help you."

He couldn't say the same. Not truthfully, knowing his children suffered the same ailment that now afflicted him. Perhaps it would be less potent for them, but nevertheless. He was caught between two needs to protect. Never had they conflicted so sharply and so directly before.

"Clarus and the others?" Regis asked.

"Retreated for now. I'm sure as soon as he hears you're awake, he'll be up here."

Regis groaned. "Tell him I'm asleep."

She smiled. A lovely sight.

"They're just worried about you, Regis."

"I know. And it pains me that they have every right to be."

She smiled a sympathetic smile, which was tolerable only by virtue of how nice any smile looked on her face. Perhaps she was no less concerned than they, but for some reason it was easier to face her worries than theirs. If one was doomed to being fussed over, at least let it be at the hands of a beautiful woman.

"Was any progress made before their retreat?"

"I don't know. They don't share those details with me."

"They might as well." Regis straightened in his chair and drained the last of his water. "If I must hear bad news, let it be from your lips rather than Avun's."

"Someday, perhaps." She smiled and took the empty glass from him. Rather than setting it aside she held onto it.

Someday. The word bounced around inside his skull, refusing to sit and sink in. Someday. What did that mean?

"I think I may accidentally have taken Reina's place," Crea said, forcing Regis' mind back to the present. "I was on hand when she collapsed and chaos erupted. The court was desperate for some point of contact or source of information. So I stayed after sending Reina upstairs with Crowe."

"You remained… with Reina's courtiers?"

"Yes…" Crea said absently. "They're a little like children, aren't they?"

Once more his tired brain stumbled over her words and he found himself staring stupidly up at her instead of responding.

"I mean, most of them have all their needs taken care of by other people and end up with so few responsibilities that they have no idea what to do in the event of any uncertainty. They just needed someone to tell them what to do so they would stop panicking."

"You took Reina's spot among the courtiers and told them what to do," Regis managed.

"I suppose so. No one else was doing it."

"Crea."

"And it wasn't as if they were going to do it themselves."

"Crea."

"They are honestly like a pack of overgrown children who—"

" _Crea_."

She fell silent. Her fingers tapped arrhythmically against the outside of his empty water glass.

"Marry me."

The glass nearly slipped from her fingers and she fumbled to keep her hold on it to spare it from the marble floor. When she had it back in both hands she set it aside on the coffee table and straightened. Her face was flushed.

"Um." Her voice warbled.

"You cannot take Reina's courtiers in hand like a pack of children and still maintain you do not have the skills necessary to be a queen."

She tugged at her sleeves, not looking at him. Regis sat forward in his chair, intending to stand until he recalled the state his body was in. Collapsing at her feet might have been effective, but it would not have been dignified. Instead he reached forward and took her hands. She looked first at his hands before lifting her chin to meet his gaze. She allowed him to draw her closer until she stood against the side of his armchair.

"You do not have to give me an answer. Not now. You have expressed before your fears that you would make a poor queen and I have given you my assurances that my offer still stands. I now merely place before you my evidence that you have all the makings for a fine queen."

"I don't know…"

Sometimes what was most obvious to those closest to you was most difficult to see. He squeezed her hands and leaned back in his chair, but did not release her.

"I should be more concerned if you did," he said. "This is hardly a choice to be made lightly."

A knock came to the door. Regis released her. Crea startled, glancing toward the door and taking three hasty steps back.

"Enter," Regis called, and Avun did so. He had, without contest, the worst timing of anyone in the Citadel.

"Your dinner, Sire."

Though, then again, dinner may have been important.

Regis waved him to leave it on the coffee table.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Crea asked.

He fought the desire to answer that question truthfully in Avun's presence. "No, thank you, Crea. It sounds as if you have been performing admirably in our absence."

She withdrew, leaving him to his breakfast and Avun's reports of the world outside his chambers.

"Master Amicitia is asking after you, Sire."

Despite his jesting words to Crea, the conversation with Clarus was an inevitable one.

"I will see him now." Though he would have preferred to enjoy his dinner in Crea's company.

Avun bowed out of the room, going to deliver his wishes to Clarus, while Regis began on his meal. So few minutes passed between Avun's departure and his return that Clarus must have been sitting outside in the lounge, waiting for Regis to wake. It was not only Clarus, however, but Weskham, Cor, and Cid that accompanied Avun back to Regis' rooms as well.

They filed in at Regis' motion.

"Done with yer beauty rest, are ya?" Cid asked.

"Let's not be irreverent to the man who upholds the Wall during this siege." Clarus sat down across from Regis. "How are you feeling?"

The question nettled him more than Cid's. "You may be as irreverent as you wish, so long as you keep your voices down. Reina and Noctis are asleep in the other room."

They settled more quietly at his warning, each taking a seat in the lounge: Cid made a point to take up half the sofa himself, Weskham folded himself neatly into an armchair, and Cor, rather than risk indignation by sitting too near someone else, stood with his arms crossed leaning against the wall near the door.

"We heard from Crea what happened," Clarus said in an undertone. "At least in part. Is it true they assisted you in maintaining the Wall?"

"It is. And that is the extent of my tale. The rest I expect to hear from you," Regis said.

And so Clarus reported, occasionally supplemented by details from the others, on the state of the battle outside the Wall. Regis worked his way through his dinner, nodding occasionally but otherwise making no comment as he stored every detail away. It was grim news. Though they had managed, alongside the Kingsglaive, to eliminate three of the six Magitek cannons, they had little hope of reducing Niflheim's numbers further. The troops that had come from Gralea seemed intent on protecting the cannons at all costs. Casualties meant nothing to men of metal or to daemons.

"I fear we may need a fresh strategy, lest we fall to their attack," Clarus finished. "And I admit to being out of ideas. Though it gives me some hope to know the twins are able to aid you."

Regis dabbed his mouth with his napkin, folded it beside his plate, and set the whole tray aside. He sat back in his chair.

"Do not place your expectations on them," Regis said. "This is not their war to fight and I would not have them used as a crutch."

"It may well be their war eventually," Weskham noted.

"No," Regis said. "It shall not be. Whatever I pass on to them, a war with Niflheim shall not be among them."

Whatever it took, he would end this war—one way or another—before Noctis took the throne.

If only he had some method to do so.

As if on cue, the door to Regis' bedroom door cracked open and two faces appeared in the doorway.

"May we join you, Father?"

Under normal circumstances, he would have ushered them out of his lounge to wait until serious conversations were through with. But how could he, after what they had done for Lucis? For him?

"You may." He waved them forward and they came to stand beside his chair.

They were of a height again. If Crea was correct, and she most often was, it would be the last time they were. Reina still seemed much too small to have stopped growing—a child's height for life—and if Noctis took on any of Regis' height, they would make an odd pair. Those days of children indistinguishable from each other were long gone.

"Wes, will you see that dinner is brought up for the prince and princess?" Regis asked.

They must have all slept through lunch. He remembered breakfast and little else of the day. The Wall consumed everything.

Weskham leapt to his request while the others shifted uncomfortably and exchanged looks. How did one speak of war while two twelve-year-olds stood in the room? After today: much the same as one spoke of war any other time. For they had stood on the front with him and been spared little of what war meant for Insomnia and the throne.

Clarus cleared his throat. "Dare I ask how long you can hold against this siege?"

Regis' own reserves were drained dry. Without lowering the Wall, he had little to draw on, save what he managed to recover between attacks. The twins were little better off. While they did not have the ever-present strain of the Wall on their shoulders, they were but children, still half-trained and undisciplined. It was easy to look back now and wish he had spent more time on their lessons. But they were only twelve.

"Not long, before it breaks us down or drains us of life," Regis said. Though his retinue blanched at the bluntness of his words, his children did not. They understood the price that was paid to keep Insomnia safe. "We may have a day at most to solve this."

Weskham returned, having delivered Regis' request to the servants, and took up his seat once more.

"We'll just have to throw everything we have at them," Cor said.

"Appearing too desperate will only make them more eager to break through," Clarus said.

"Aren't you listening? They're going to break through by tomorrow night either way," Cor said.

"Is there any chance of leveraging your contacts in Altissia, Wes?" Clarus asked.

Weskham shook his head. "Small chance. Don't forget, Accordo is still part of Niflheim. They maintain no true military of their own as part of the bargain for their supposed independence. Even if they did, Camelia stands to lose too much by supporting us so openly."

They sat in silence for too long. Minutes washed away while they deliberated and yet, no ideas were to be had. This could not be the end for Lucis. Not now. He had defied the Gods and set himself against fate. He had all but convinced Crea of her virtues and capabilities. He had reunited with his retinue after decades apart. He had extracted the Oracle and her family safely from Tenebrae to combat the Starscourge. Would it all come to naught in the face of the empire?

Avunculus knocked on the door. "Master Carrina is requesting a brief audience, Your Majesty."

The empire. The Astrals. The Starscourge.

And Hamon Carrina.

Hamon, who always had his own agenda and did as he pleased to accomplish it. Hamon, who could not be trusted alone with Reina for all that he tried to twist her perceptions and magic to his will. Regis was of half a mind to tell Avun to dismiss him. If Lucis had twenty four hours left on Eos, he wished to spend none of them in Hamon Carrina's company.

Reina's hand landed on his arm. He looked up to catch that familiar, distant look on her face, like one attempting to recall some half-forgotten memory.

"You should talk to him, Father," she said.

Hamon, who held his place on the council still on because Reina had requested he not be deposed. Because he had some part yet to play.

"Send him in," Regis said. Let them hear what Hamon Carrina had to say.

Without being told, the others shifted. Reina and Noctis still stood to one side of his chair, though Reina tucked herself rather more behind Noctis than previously, Cor remained standing near the door but he straightened from his at-ease position, and the others rose to arrange themselves about Regis' chair. The aura of casual conversation over dinner evaporated. They stood, instead, in a negotiation chamber.

Avun opened the door to admit Hamon and stood to one side, on hand until dismissed or sent on a new task. Let him remain. He could see that Hamon left once his time was up.

Hamon followed, though far enough back to make it appear as if he entered of his own volition rather than on Avun's heels. For all that Regis and his children were worn down supporting the Wall, and his retinue was bruised and beaten by Niflheim's army, Hamon appeared remarkably unaffected by the whole ordeal.

He would be tomorrow, if they could not think of a suitable solution before then.

His eyes swept the room, taking in every detail, before landing on Regis.

"Your Majesty," he bowed just low enough to avoid being disrespectful. "Your Highnesses." He inclined his head to Noctis and Reina.

"Master Hamon." Regis motioned that he might speak freely.

"I come bearing counsel, as is my due," Hamon said. "Though we have not convened to discuss the situation in Insomnia, the news is dire, and my duty to the crown remains."

Regis held both his tongue and his thoughts on the subject of Hamon's sense of duty, and waved him onward.

"Unless I am very much mistaken, we face a foe we cannot hope to best with steel," Hamon said. "And so we must turn to other alternatives. To counsel on these requires a certain amount of conjecture on my part, but I trust I shall be corrected if I draw erroneous conclusions." His eyes flicked briefly to Clarus before settling once more on Regis. "The rescue effort in Tenebrae went remarkably smoothly. Indeed, reports make no mention of combat whatsoever. This alone is puzzling. But Niflheim has had sources within Lucis, and Lucis has a long history of friendship with Tenebrae. It is not so far-fetched to imagine that we had allies still remaining in Fenestala, who might enable a rescue mission to flow so smoothly. More far-fetched, but not inconceivable, is the possibility that we instead have allies within Niflheim. Once we brush aside the obvious objections—that surely if we had such a friend, the council would be aware of it—then it seems very clear. An imperial ally would be much more capable of ensuring smooth execution than a Tenebraean one."

He was not far from the truth, and so Regis made no sign to interrupt and correct him. He continued.

"I prefer to give you the benefit of the doubt and suppose that this imperial ally had not been hidden from the council so much as he was only recently discovered. But in the wake of the events in Tenebrae, the true happenings in Fenestala Manor _have_ been concealed. Many possible explanations for this exist. The most likely, I believe, is that His Majesty is not yet assured of this supposed friendship and is reluctant to accept the olive branch. Under normal circumstances, this would be a subject for discussion among the councillors. But not, perhaps if what had been asked for was beyond our power to give." Here his eyes flicked toward Reina, though she stood largely obscured behind Noctis. To her credit, she stood strong and straight beneath his unsettling gaze.

Again, his pause was met with no objections. He dragged his eyes away from Reina with the difficulty of a hungry man looking away from a full table and looked back to Regis.

"Far be it for me to decide what Lucis is worth, Your Majesty," he said. "But as councillor to the crown, I counsel this: make a deal."

When placed in such terms it seemed a blatantly obvious thing to do. Indeed, from Hamon's perspective it must have seemed remarkably unlikely that no one had thought of it before. Then again, perhaps the same could be said of anything Hamon suggested.

And yet, in the twisted mire that was Regis' interactions with Ardyn, he had not even begun to consider offering some deal in exchange for ending this siege. Perhaps because what he truly wanted was much more complicated than anything Hamon could deduce.

"Thank you, Master Hamon," Clarus said. "Your counsel has been heard by the crown. If there is nothing else?"

Hamon studied Regis with unsettling intensity, only pulling his eyes away to deign Clarus with the briefest of glances.

"I think not," Hamon said. "That is all for now."

He turned on his heel and swept from the room, pausing only to allow Avun to open the door for him. Whatever he thought of their encounter, Regis could only surmise. Their lack of denial for each of his conjectures was near enough confirmation. He had small details wrong, and he could go on believing them as long as he liked, but the larger picture he had formulated well. And, much as Regis disliked it, he gave good counsel.

Once Avun had followed Hamon out of the room and shut the door behind them, Reina spoke. "Is he talking about the Burgundy Man, Father?"

"He is, in a way," Regis confirmed. Though it was impossible to know if Hamon had guessed who their supposed ally within the empire was.

"Are you truly friends with the Burgundy Man?"

"The Burgundy Man is a difficult person to be friends with, my dear," Regis said. "As a rule, one must trust one's friends. And I cannot trust the Burgundy Man."

"You can trust him," Reina said. "Just not how you trust Clarus."

A cryptic remark that deserved a deeper explanation.

"I'm hungry," Noctis said.

And would not receive one.

"Run along then," Regis said. "Have your dinner, but do not wander far. Bedtime has not changed simply because we awoke late."

They would need their strength for whatever came next. With any luck, one more sleepless night from Regis would not doom them all. He had little choice but to risk it all the same.

Reina and Noctis left, and all barriers went with them. The stilted atmosphere of the room relaxed as his retinue once more took their seats around the lounge.

"So," Clarus said. "Do we take his advice? Deal with the daemon?"

"What choice have we?" Regis asked. "The twins and I cannot stand against the Magitek cannons for much longer and the Kingsglaive—even aided by you—were unable to turn the tide for us."

"And what have we to offer him?" Clarus asked. "Hamon seems to believe Ardyn is after Reina's magic, though that is not the story he has told you."

"Hamon believes Ardyn is after Reina's magic because _he_ desires Reina's power," Regis said. "We are so often unable to look beyond our own motivations to imagine another's. And it suits his narrative. It would please him, I believe, to see me forced to use Reina as a bargaining chip for Lucis."

If it had come to that, would Regis have done it? He had not been able to for Noctis. Or he had, once. And then the world had changed. Hopefully it would never change again to force Regis' hand on such a choice.


	37. Deal with the Daemon

The In Between awaited. And in it: Ardyn Lucis Caelum lounged beside a half-emptied tea-tray with his chair balanced on two legs and his feet propped on the table.

"Ah, Nephew." He drained a pink-patterned tea cup dry and peered into the bottom of it. "How lovely to see you again. Come to give my proposal an answer?"

"I come to deliver a counter proposal."

Ardyn lifted his feet from the table. His chair fell back on all four legs with a bang. "Oh? How intriguing. Let us hear this counter proposal."

"You wish for me to join your fight against the Astrals. In a way, I already have, though perhaps I have not committed to the level of extermination that you desire. Nevertheless, you make a valid point: The Astrals pose a threat not merely to myself and my family, but to all of Eos. If they truly created the Starscourge, as you claim, then I must oppose them on principle."

"I am sensing a 'but'..." Ardyn said.

"But as matters with Niflheim stand, I cannot well oppose the Astrals. All of my power is drained beneath this siege. Indeed, my true power is held in check by maintaining the Wall, which is necessary to protect my people against the empire. Whatever threat the Astrals may pose, my first responsibility is to my kingdom. And without me standing between them and the empire, they will fall. At this rate, we will all fall within a day, regardless."

Ardyn upturned his empty teacup on the table and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Let me guess. You want me to call off the dogs. End the siege. Stop the war."

"While Niflheim opposes me, I cannot well commit to your cause."

"And here I wonder if you would _commit to my cause_ , as you put it, without the threat of doom and destruction hanging over you."

"I can only give you my assurance that, without the empire looming over Lucis, I will endeavor to end the threat the Astrals pose."

Ardyn rose to his feet. He pressed his palms flat against the top of the table and leaned over, scrutinizing Regis. "The word of a Caelum means very little."

"Perhaps that once was the case. But not every Caelum is your brother."

"You may as well be."

"If you will not trust me, I can see no way forward in an alliance."

"Oh? And tell me something, _Nephew_. Do _you_ trust _me_?"

"After a fashion," Regis said.

"After a fashion," he repeated. He straightened and rounded the table toward Regis. He had several inches of height on Regis, though it was impossible to tell whether that was real, or mere fabrication made by this place; in the physical world they had never stood so near to each other.

"Then make a show of faith," Ardyn said. "And I'll make mine."

"What do you ask of me?"

"Despite my assurances that I have no interest in your precious daughter, you keep her locked away from me in fear. Dismantle the barrier. Release her magic. Then we will talk."

Distantly, he was aware of sounds in this physical world, but he kept his senses trained on the In Between.

"Well?" Ardyn prompted. "If you wish me to trust you will keep your word, you'll trust me to keep mine."

And if all of this was some ploy to break down Reina's walls in the first place? If the Astrals had nothing to do with the Starscourge? If he was committing himself to an alliance that would only drag him and his family down into darkness and infamy?

A boom echoed in the In Between: not a sound but a sensation given form by Regis' mind. The whole world rocked, and though Ardyn seemed untouched by the rolling ground, Regis was knocked to his knees as pain shot through him.

The cannons were back. He was out of time.

"Think quickly, Nephew."

The In Between dissolved around him: The empty blackness faded away to the dimly lit interior of Regis' bed chamber and Ardyn was no more. Outside, lightning lit the sky, followed by a second series of red blasts, which shattered across the Wall and sent Regis reeling. He curled in on himself, pushing aside the pain and distraction while he gathered up the tattered remains of his magic to thrust into the cracking Wall.

The door to his bedroom flung open. In came Reina, followed by Noctis; she took his hand and a trickle of mana flowed into him. A bare fraction what they would need.

His focus turned inward. Reina and Noctis stood with him in the net that upheld the Wall and power flowed in all directions: between them—leveling out reserves and restoring some of what Regis had burned away—and to the Wall, fixing the cracks that each shattering blow brought. In the brief respite, the twins had recovered much of themselves while Regis had regained so little. It would not be enough either way.

Again the Magitek cannons fired and again the chips and cracks in the Wall were filled with magic. But even as it dragged on Regis' strength and his children struggled to patch the cracks, resources grew low.

One more barrage they could withstand. Maybe.

_Make a choice, Nephew_.

His own magic was caught up with Reina's. He could die sheltering her from Ardyn and lose her despite everything. Or he could drop the barrier he held around her and gain a smidgeon more of his reserves back. And perhaps much more than that.

_Hold on, my dear_. He squeezed her hand in his and pressed his magic against the barrier he had built up around her. He reabsorbed it, drawing that little bit of magic back into himself. Then he cut the bonds he had wrapped her in to prevent her from reaching the In Between. Her other sight was free.

And his half of the bargain was fulfilled.

A silent laugh rolled over his subconscious.

Regis' physical eyes saw nothing. But through his magic he sensed the change immediately: a great darkness swept up and across the Wall, crashing like a wave upon the outside. Unlike the cannons, it did not attempt to shatter the barrier, but the pressure was near suffocating, whether intentional or not. What must it have been like for those outside the Wall?

The cannonfire ceased. An inhuman screech ran through the imperial ranks and the world seemed to quiver with it.

His senses freed from the constant onslaught, Regis forced his eyes open and stumbled to his feet. His vision dimmed around the edges, darkness threatening to engulf it completely as he took one step, another step, willing his body to carry him across to the windows. Small hands gripped his hand and elbow, bracing him. He leaned. With that support, he managed the few shaky steps to the window and, leaning against the glass, beheld the chaos he had unleashed outside.

Daemons. Hundreds of daemons, brought in upon Magitek transports to combat Kingsglaive, had turned against their imperial masters. A great, tentacled beast enveloped one of the Magitek cannons entirely. While inky blackness seeped out of it, the Magitek ship fell from the sky and collided with the Wall.

Regis winced. His forehead touched the cold glass as he shut his eyes against the world and let the Wall pull strength from him. Had he saved Lucis, or doomed it? It was too soon to tell.

"Father, please sit down. If you fall I won't be able to catch you."

The hands that gripped his arm tightened and tugged. Regis opened his eyes to find Reina at his side, pulling him down. He sat where he was—she had more sense than he—and watched the unholy battle play out just beyond the Wall.

Someone pounded on the door.

"Your Majesty?" Avun called. "Are you well?"

It wasn't a word he would have used to describe himself. Semi-conscious? Yes. Aware? Unfortunately. Upright? Not entirely. Well? Not precisely.

He had meant to form a response, but his brain snagged on words and his tongue refused to move.

"We're alright!" Reina called back. "You can come in."

The door opened. Outside, the blackness of the storm met the blackness of the scourge to bring down a second Magitek cannon. Lightning struck at the daemons, as if their sudden coherence stirred Ramuh's indignation, but the daemons hardly seemed to care.

"Thank the Astrals," Avun said.

"Regis?" Clarus must have entered with him. Regis couldn't seem to pull his eyes from the sights outside the window.

But Clarus was here. And the others?

He wrenched his gaze free from the battle that now included Lucis only peripherally. "Is everyone safe?"

"All of us are within, but the Kingsglaive and some portion of the army remain outside the Wall," Clarus said.

"Call them back," Regis said. His voice sounded as bad as he felt: like it had been dragged on hot concrete all across lucis. "Full retreat."

"What's going on?" Clarus asked.

" _Do it now_." It took every ounce of strength to muster that tone, but the result was inarguable. Clarus ducked out of the room: distantly, his voice could be heard delivering orders over his radio.

Regis turned his gaze back out the window. Now that he knew the Kingsglaive was still beyond the Wall, he imagined he could see faint blue streaks of magic in the black fog of daemons. They needed to withdraw now, before any more fell casualty to this deal he had made.

He had made.

His forehead hit the window once more. Somehow the cold was comforting.

"Gods, what have I done…?"

Saved lives, he hoped. If Niflheim had broken down the Wall, would not the Kingsglaive have fallen, alongside Lucis' army? The people, perhaps, would have been largely spared: the empire would take control; they would kill the royal family but the common folk concerned them not at all.

Hands touched his shoulders. He lifted his eyes to find not only Reina, but Noctis standing beside him as well. He reached out, one arm to either side, and pulled them as close as exhausted muscles would permit.

He had saved their lives. If nothing else, he had saved his children. The cost had yet to be tallied, but if it was short of the destruction of Eos, he would struggle to believe it had not been worth it.


	38. Waking

For the most part, in the aftermath of the Battle of Daemons, he slept. First he slept sitting upright on the floor with his head propped against the window. When the fight was through and there was nothing more to be seen from there, Reina and Noctis dragged him back to his bed, where all three of them slept through until morning. And then some.

They all woke sometime later, in what could still vaguely be considered morning, and were coerced into eating breakfast by Avun. Some information passed through him: What little of Niflheim's forces had not been defeated by the daemons had retreated. All three remaining Magitek cannons had been taken down in the process. Lucis' army and the Kingsglaive had both withdrawn before that time, and the casualty list was no longer than expected. The strangest thing about the tale, however, was not that the daemons had turned on their masters or that Lucis had somehow come away largely unscathed, but that after Niflheim had been dispatched, the daemons had simply left.

Regis' brain and body were both too tired to dwell for long on this news. After breakfast, he slept once more.

It was a fitful sleep. He half expected at any moment to be woken by a knife to his back. And yet Reina, who slept beside him throughout, seemed unaffected by his choice to lower her barriers. If Ardyn approached her in the In Between, Regis knew nothing of it—though he did endeavor to watch, in his semi-conscious state, as he drifted between true dreams and the black, dream-like realm of the In Between.

He saw Reina on a sunny riverbank. Grass grew in vibrant green beneath the azure sky, unveiled by any barrier. It might have been a lovely place for a picnic, were it not for the ominous black of the waters themselves. They roiled and bubbled in their banks, sweeping along and swallowing up anything that dared venture too close: a colorful leaf—a first hint of fall—that drifted down from the big oak tree on its banks, a foolish squirrel—come for a drink of ebony water—and a frog, which lept straight in. All were swallowed by the waters. All were overcome, never to be seen again.

And yet, Reina danced and dawdled on the banks. She climbed atop a log, too near to the river's edge for comfort, and took deliberately slow steps down its length, arms thrown wide for balance.

_Reina!_

He tried to cry out to her, but he had no voice. No sound came.

Despite that, she turned and looked at him. She wobbled precariously on the log for a moment before finding her balance again. And she smiled.

"Don't worry, Father. I won't go in until you give permission. Go back to sleep."

And with those words, as if some magic took hold of him, he was swept back up into the peaceful oblivion of dreamless sleep. When he woke, an indefinite amount of time later to sun streaming in through his bedroom windows, he had no notion whether that had been a vision from the In Between or a simple dream. But both Reina and Noctis lay beside him still.

He slept again.

When next he woke, it was full evening. The setting sun glinted off the buildings of glass and chrome outside his window, and Clarus sat in an armchair nearby, watching the world from above. Reina and Noctis were gone from his bed. It was that fact, more than anything, that brought him upright.

"Regis!" Clarus startled when he did so.

"My children?"

"Safe and well." Clarus rose to his feet, coming to stand beside Regis' bed. "They both woke some time ago and grew tired of idling. I believe they have both made themselves busy in various ways."

Sitting upright was making his head spin. Regis dropped back down amongst his pillows, and shut his eyes against the blurring of the room. His bed shifted as Clarus sat down on the edge.

"We've had word from Sylva," Clarus said.

Regis peeled open one eye to look at him. "Bad news?"

"Peculiar news, I would say. It would seem that ever since Niflheim's retreat, the daemons in the Outlands have been behaving… oddly."

"Oddly?"

"Attacks have become more infrequent. More than one civilian reports having seen daemons in the night and witnessed them simply walk away, as if human flesh no longer interests them."

Peculiar indeed. An olive branch, perhaps?

"What does it mean?" Clarus asked.

Regis opened both eyes and pushed himself—more slowly this time—into an upright position. He passed a hand over his face. His hair and beard were both a mess. Clarus had seen worse.

"It means I am going to war with the Draconian," Regis said. "I do not ask you to stand beside me and fight a god. But I also will not turn aside your help, if offered."

Though Clarus looked initially started by the declaration, resolve hardened on his features. "My shield is yours. As it always has been."

"And I hope it shall continue to be for many decades yet. Come. Help me to stand. I tire of bed and wish to return to my kingdom."

"Are you well enough to take on your duties?"

"No. But I am well enough to take on my lounge. And perhaps whatever meal is served at this time of day."

The clock read just past seven. Dinner, then. He took it in his lounge, listening to reports of the time he had spent abed. After, he felt well enough to put on a suit and descend to the lower levels.

The Citadel was quiet, this time of the evening, but far from deserted. Servants and Crownsguards lined the halls and bowed silently as Regis passed with Clarus at his side and Avun two paces behind. The grand gallery, which filled to bursting on special occasions, was home to but a few courtiers, clumped at one end of the room. They sat together, a group made predominantly of women in custom-made gowns, and sipped evening coffee over quiet conversation. Regis would have passed them by entirely without notice, if not for one familiar face among their numbers.

Crea.

Crea, dressed in a gown he had commissioned for her for those occasions when she needed to fit in with his court. Ten years ago, she would have looked out of place in it. Now she wore it as a second skin: she owned the dress and found it not at all overpowering. She filled it. And it only accentuated her.

"...the entire royal family tucked away out of sight. It's no wonder people are talking," one courtier was saying.

"Firstly, that isn't true in the least and you know it," Crea said. "Prince Noctis and Princess Reina have both been out and about the Citadel. Claude, you saw both of them."

"I did," another courtier agreed.

"And the whole idea that somehow the royal family being out of sight spells disaster is ridiculous," Crea said. "I've told you already: King Regis is fine."

"You've seen him, haven't you, Crea?" One young woman leaned closer, as if expecting some confession.

"I have," Crea said. "As you might expect, repelling an invasion takes a great deal of concentration. He has been focused on keeping everyone safe. As were the prince and princess until a few days ago."

"But the imperials left _days_ ago. Where is the king now?"

"Much the same place he has been, I expect," Crea said. "I won't pretend I understand how the royal magic works or what the requirements of the Wall are. Perhaps it is not unlike a real wall and repairs continue after the attack is through."

There was a murmuring of thoughtful agreement among the courtiers. Clarus covertly elbowed him in the ribs. They were standing in the doorway of the gallery, in plain view of many, while he stared at Crea. By some luck they had gone unnoticed thus far. It was best if he walked away before attracting attention from within.

Regis stepped out of sight, reluctantly pulling his attention from Crea. How on Eos had she become so skillful in handling panicked courtiers?

They were just like children, she had said.

"She's been at it since the siege began, more or less," Clarus said as they walked through quiet halls. "She stepped right up into that empty space and filled it as if she'd always been hired to keep panic from spreading amongst the courtiers. I don't know what we'd have done if she hadn't. Murdered them all, likely."

Regis shook his head, though he couldn't help the smile that formed. The sentiment was not lost on him. One courtier—indeed, one person of any class—could be reasoned with. But a whole crowd of them who had gotten into their minds a single idea were nigh impossible to settle. It was not unprecedented to find them clustered up outside the throne room, the war room, or the council chamber, pounding and shouting whenever anyone walked through in an effort to be heard. And heard they were. But changing their minds with reason was another matter altogether.

Somehow, Crea had avoided that issue by gathering them around her in clusters and preventing the critical mass that formed a mob. One courtier, perhaps even five courtiers, could be reasoned with. Five hundred could not. But when ideas spread, they spread through small groups. And small groups formed the whole.

"I asked her to marry me again," Regis said.

Clarus stopped walking. "What did she say?"

"She said 'um.'"

Though with an intonation that had suggested both the terror and panic of an unprepared student faced with an unexpected quiz.

"Not entirely the answer you were hoping for, I expect." They both resumed walking. The hall was a poor place to discuss such things, and yet Regis was the one who had brought it up.

"No, and yet, more or less the one I expected," Regis said. "Ten years ago I believed she would not be able to face the duties that inevitably come with the title of Queen-consort. In the time since she has returned to us, I have changed my mind several times over. She would make a magnificent queen."

"After this display, I'm inclined to agree with you."

"It only remains to convince her of that fact," Regis said.

"And the council."

"To hell with the council," Regis said. "If they are unconvinced by her recent behavior, then I have no need of their approval."

Clarus gave him the look that said he was being childish and could not be reasoned with. It was likely true. Perhaps that was why Crea handled him so well.


	39. Beyond the Veil

As Regis had known from the start, making a deal with a daemon was not so simple as promising and receiving. As he had evidently done once for Reina, Ardyn sought Regis in his dreams.

"My end of the bargain is fulfilled, Nephew. It is time you stepped up and opposed the Astrals yourself."

"Have I not?" Regis asked. "As you have seen, my kingdom is besieged by the Fulgarian himself."

"He is but a pawn in the game," Ardyn said. "Challenge the Draconian. Draw your blade against him."

"Only a fool would do so. Do you wish to win this war, or see me killed? I understand the latter will give you no grief, and yet I must know your true motivations before I act."

"My motivations are very simple, Nephew. I want revenge on those who have wronged me. In all other circumstances, when such revenge is not immediately available, I seek only to amuse myself."

It was so plainly straight-forward and so very much in agreement with everything Regis had witnessed from him thus far that it could only be truth.

Ardyn laughed. "So taken aback by my honesty? I can be truthful if I like."

"So I see. In any case, let us then focus on revenge. Though I am descended from one who has wronged you, let us hope I am of more use to you than crushing out the image of your brother."

"Admittedly, you look very little like him."

Indeed. When they had spoken face to face, Regis could recognize speaking with Ardyn's brother more clearly than speaking with an ancestor. He did, however, bear a stronger resemblance to Noctis. A concerning comparison, if Ardyn was concerned with eliminating all traces of Somnus. He stashed the thought away for later reference.

"Your revenge, then, requires the eradication of the Draconian," Regis said.

"Indeed."

"As of right now, he is surrounded by powerful allies. We are not."

"And so?"

"We must either dismantle his allies or build our own. Given the circumstances, the former is more likely to benefit us. I can think of only one other person on Eos currently old enough to be of any assistance to us. Unless you wish to wait a decade."

"I have waited two millennia," Ardyn said. "I would rather not wait any longer."

And yet, what was a decade after waiting two thousand years?

A question better left unasked.

"This will not happen overnight, either way," Regis cautioned.

"Are you suggesting we systematically exterminate every remaining Astral?"

"I was rather suggesting we negotiate with them," Regis said. "Though given your history of allies, I can hardly blame you for your conclusions."

Niflheim had made their job easier, whether Regis agreed with their methods or not. If reports were true, two Astrals had already fallen to their hands.

"It would be easier to kill them," Ardyn said.

"And it would be easier if I laid down my crown, gathered up my children, and walked away from Lucis. But it would not be right."

Ardyn gave an exasperated sigh. "Why am I always stuck with the moral ones?"

"Somehow, I doubt you ever have been before," Regis said. "If you continue to keep the empire off my borders, I will continue to gather information and formulate a plan to decrease the Draconian's power."

Ardyn stepped backward and faded into the blackness. It was the nearest to assent as he would receive.

And so it was that they settled into an uneasy truce. How long it would last before Ardyn grew impatient once more, Regis had no notion, but as his only lead with regard to person allies was halfway across Lucis and hip-deep in landslides, Regis had little choice but to push the boundaries of their agreement. He could scarcely discuss world-shattering secrets with the Oracle over the Kingsglaive radio.

Fall had come and gone before Sylva and Lunafreya returned. Winter was coming to Insomnia and still the unending storm raged across Lucis. The sun had not shone in five months.

During that time, some semblance of normalcy settled into place. The lowering of Reina's barriers had not provoked any action from Ardyn and so her lessons in Dreaming resumed. School and private tutoring for the twins continued, although in whatever modified form was made necessary by the inclement weather. Plans and preparations for Reina and Ravus' betrothal ceremony persisted, though a date was not yet set. With time pressures no longer enforced by the empire, they were free to wait until the storm passed.

If ever it passed.

And, throughout it all, Crea persisted in her new position in court, though with one new development: she begged leave to join Reina and Noctis' lessons on upper class society and etiquette. This fact delighted Reina and mortified Noctis. As per usual, Crea continued to walk with Reina and Ravus as their chaperone, but she had created a following of her own and several dozen courtiers flocked to her daily for advice and chatter on every subject beneath the storm.

She had yet to give Regis an answer.

And so that was the state of things when, one stormy night precisely like every stormy night before it, the Oracle and her daughter returned from their long excursion across the kingdom.

Five months of trudging through mud and muck was bound to have an impression on any person. But, as he stood in the entry hall to greet the returning guests and Kingsglaives, Regis struggled to see it as a negative impression.

Gone were the fineries of Tenebrae. Sylva and Lunafreya were both dressed for travel in Outland-made clothes: heavy canvas pants, boots caked in mud, water resistant coats and wide-brimmed hats. If they had brought any jewelry or ornamentation with them, it was either packed away in the bags they hauled or lost in the floods outside. Both wore their hair up in their hats, and, when those inevitably came off, it was not a cascade of clean blonde locks that came out, but a flop of dirty blonde hair matted with muck.

"Welcome back," Regis said, suddenly feeling much too clean for present company, as if his precious hands had been too neatly manicured to risk outside in the mud. He should have been with them.

And yet, who would have remained to hold Insomnia against Niflheim, if he had?

He pushed these thoughts away and focused on the present. "Avun. See to it that the Oracle and Lunafreya receive hot baths in their rooms and have fresh clothes laid out for them."

"It may take some time to wash all the mud off," Sylva said. "If there is a need, we can report on the success of our mission before."

Though he was eager to discuss certain developments inside and outside Insomnia, none of them were so urgent that they could not wait for a bath. He well knew the discomfort of sitting through diplomatic meetings after trudging through the wild. It promised to be a long night: let her at least be as comfortable as possible.

"There is no need," Regis said. "Make yourselves comfortable and after we shall speak."

She bowed to his judgement and left with Lunafreya, trailed by a handful of servants, to wash off several months worth of Lucian mud. Once the Kingsglaives who had served as her guards and guides were dismissed to similar end, Regis withdrew to the royal levels. What he had to discuss with Sylva was only in part related to the Starscourge and, while it all pertained to the safety of his kingdom, it seemed somehow more appropriate to hold the meeting upstairs in his private lounge.

The royal lounge was quiet. The hour for Reina and Noctis' bed had already passed by and both were, if not asleep, at least quietly pretending to be so behind their own door. But Crea sat up waiting. She had already showered and changed from the fineries of court to more comfortable—but no less natural—nightwear. Somehow she could look at ease in the finest of custom made gowns or in sweatpants and an oversized nightshirt with the collar cut out.

She rose when he entered. "Did something happen?"

"Sylva has returned."

For a moment he thought he saw a flicker of something on her face—jealousy or displeasure—before she tucked it away like a true courtier.

"I see," she said. "And you'll be hearing her report tonight?"

"I shall. Another long night, I expect."

The elevator chimed and out stepped Weskham and Cid. Regis turned to greet them both with a nod and a clasped wrist.

"Finally moving forward, eh?" Cid asked. "Took you long enough."

"Sometimes there are matters out of my hands, which I must wait for. Like it or not, I do not control time," Regis said.

Cid scrutinized him. "You're a right stick in the mud these days, Reggie, you know that?"

"It comes with the crown, I fear."

They stood about, talking intermittently and keeping their voices low at Regis' behest, in case the twins were, in fact, asleep. Crea stood with them, joining in the conversation when engaged, but primarily observing.

The next time the elevator doors opened, Cor arrived and, not long after, came Clarus.

"Clarus." Weskham slapped him agreeably on the shoulder. "Have they called you out of bed?"

"Very nearly," Clarus said. "Let's hope it was worth it, shall we? With any luck, we'll make progress tonight."

He glanced significantly among them, met Regis' gaze, and offered a nod. Sylva was the primary surviving expert on all things pertaining to the Starscourge and the Astrals.

"You aren't just talking about the Starscourge in the Outlands, are you?" Crea asked.

Eyes moved from her to Regis. Their words thus far had been guarded, though perhaps less so than they would have been with another outsider. And yet, was Crea truly outsider to them? He wished she would not be. Nevertheless, she had thus far chosen to remain so. To step into the deeper affairs of the royal family brought strife that she did not deserve to bear. If that was her choice, then he would respect it.

"No," Regis said succinctly. "These matters run deeper and rather darker than I would burden you with."

"You burden your friends with them," she pointed out. Not accusing, simply observing.

"Crea," Weskham said. "You should know that, though we may look like the king's friends in the same fashion any other man has friends, we are more than that. Every one of us has come to terms early-on—some of us earlier than others and some of us with more difficulty than others—with what it means to be taken into the king's inner circle. We _are_ his friends. And his confidants. And his brothers-in-arms or his protectors when the going runs rougher than usual. But in those roles we see behind everything that keeps Lucis alive and running. We don't get to just be Lucian citizens anymore. Because once you know how everything works and what's going on, all the magic fades and you find yourself standing underneath, holding it up. Alongside Regis."

A silence fell. Not uncomfortable, but thoughtful. Somehow Weskham had laid out so neatly and matter-of-factly the veil that she would need to cross if she truly wished to know the answer to her questions. On her face, Regis could only read surprise. He could not begin to guess whether she wanted to know badly enough to step past the veil forever.

"I see," she said faintly, as if her mind buzzed away too rapidly and too noisily to allow for any other words.

Once more the elevator opened. This time, Sylva Nox Fleuret stepped out. She had donned simple robes in Tenebrae colors, without ornamentation, and her hair hung loose, still dripping across her shoulders. But she was clean.

"Gentlemen." She lowered her head and curtsied. "I apologize for the wait. I am prepared to tell all I encountered beyond the Wall."

"Then let us adjourn to my private chambers." Regis motioned. "Avunculus—coffee."

There was a general motion down the hall toward Regis' rooms at his words. Clarus took the front, followed closely by Weskham and Cid, then Cor. Their voices dropped as they entered the hall and passed by the twins' darkened bedroom. In the lounge, Crea made a motion as if to follow them. Sylva noticed.

"Your Majesty, I am certain these matters do not concern a nanny."

A few feet down the hall, the others had stopped and turned back, hesitating. Crea opened and shut her mouth, pink rising to her cheeks and flushing across her ears. He fought against the impulse to step in front of her. The worst part of it was that Sylva was correct, after a fashion. What they intended to discuss did not concern the nanny.

Crea shut her mouth with a snap and turned a burning gaze on Regis. Her jaw tightened. Her hands clenched.

"Would they concern the Queen-consort?" Crea asked.

Regis' heart thudded painfully against the inside of his ribcage, making it difficult to breathe.

"They would," Regis managed. "Yes."

"Then let them concern me." Crea held her hand out, like a young courtier, too refined to ask a gentleman to dance but too impatient to wait for him to gather his wits.

Regis struggled to recall how his limbs connected to his brain. He took her hand in his and laid the other on her waist, pulling her in toward him and kissing her fiercely in a most unkingly display. Let it be improper. Let it be inappropriate for court and unacceptably familiar for the king to be witnessed in such a state. Those who chose to walk these halls were bound to find themselves in such a position, now and then.

He wrapped both arms around her, crushing her against his chest and lifting her off her feet. His lips never left hers. The only sound she made, as she held onto his lapels with both hands, was a tiny squeak of surprise, inaudible to any save himself.

He set her back on her feet, though only reluctantly drew his mouth from her. She smiled up at him, a look that said more than any words might have. Down the hall, his retinue stood in various states of interest: Cor was resolutely facing the opposite direction; Cid shook his head, amused in exasperation; Weskham had one arm slung over Cid's shoulder and was grinning like they were all schoolboys again; and Clarus craned over and around all of them to get a view from the back. He caught Regis' eye and shot him a grin and a wink. It was somewhere around then that Regis realized he was smiling like a lackwit.

Sylva stood apart and at a loss. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Regis, Crea, and the others, knowing she had witnessed something and not understanding what.

Crea caught her eyes on them and the warmth on her face faded to something cold and sly. She laid her hand on his arm. "Won't you introduce us, Regis?"

He understood the ploy at once. He straightened, letting his hands fall from her waist and instead assuming a more respectable position beside her.

"Crea, this is the Oracle: Lady Sylva Nox Fleuret. Oracle, I present to you my fiancee, the future Queen-consort of Lucis, Creare Vinculum," Regis said.

Sylva's eyes moved between them as understanding filtered into place. Slowly, as if forced by a great weight on her shoulders, she bowed her head and curtsied to Crea. "I am honored to make your acquaintance."

"Perhaps we might now adjourn and hear what the Oracle has to say?" Crea asked.

Regis fought against the smile. "A wonderful idea. Thank you Crea."

They moved down the hall to his rooms, Regis and Crea taking to the front of their small troop as the others split for them. The twins' room was still silent beyond their shut door, though a mad part of Regis wanted to stop and wake them, to share with them this part of his life that they should have been present for. But he had other matters to deal with first. Though it was difficult to focus on dark and dangerous times when an ever-expanding bubble of happiness was threatening to engulf him entirely.

They filed wordlessly into his private lounge and took their seats. Regis and Crea arranged themselves in the center of the sofa and the others sprinkled about in armchairs or on the chaise. Cor, predictably, did not sit at all, but stood beside the door. As if it was not already guarded from the outside. Nevertheless, he would stand guard, as he always did.

When all were settled and Avun had passed through their number with a coffee tray, Regis motioned that Sylva might begin her tale. She drew herself up, sitting straighter and holding her cup of coffee between her hands, and began.

The Outlands were in a sorry state. That much they had known from Kingsglaive reports. It was hardly possible to find a road that travelled ten uninterrupted miles, let alone from one side of the kingdom to the other. The people, too, were in shambles. They suffered through the unending storm, some of them without so much as a tent over their heads. Diseases less deadly than the Starscourge had begun to spread rampant among them: with close quarters and mold growing on every surface, it was only to be expected.

Thus had Sylva and Lunafreya spent their time: tending to every illness and injury that plagued Lucis. It was small wonder they had taken 5 months to cure the population. Indeed, compared to the list of things she laid out for them, it seemed an extraordinarily short time to accomplish them all in. Especially with the state of the kingdom being what it was.

The Starscourge was more or less as Ravus had reported after his venture outside the Wall: it had not been a simple process to track down all those who had been afflicted, as many were hiding their symptoms, in denial as to what the signs truly meant, and others simply had too little hope to even come when she had called. As a result, simply traveling from outpost to outpost had been insufficient. They had delved into the darker corners of the backwoods and found the little camps of refugees hidden away from the floods and the daemons on whatever land they could find, and cured them.

It was an extraordinary tale. And one which only strengthened his resolve for what came next.

"Firstly, I must thank you," Regis said. "For you have done a great service to my people these past months. For that, the crown is in your doubt. We shall reward you with whatever it is you desire—within reason."

'We.' Not 'I'.

Crea's hand lay on his. How quickly he had fallen into using the plural form again. Or perhaps he had never stopped.

"However, if you are not too weary from your journey, there are other matters I wish to discuss with you," Regis said.

"I am not too weary, Your Majesty."

Regis caught Clarus' gaze across the room and nodded once to him. Clarus took the cue.

"Though you have done a great service in curing Lucis' people, you have only treated the symptom. The disease will only return if the root of the problem is not addressed," Clarus said.

"That is so," Sylva agreed, her eyes drifting to Regis. "That was the purpose of the Chosen King."

"Indeed," Regis said. "But no longer. I have met the root of the Starscourge—as have you. And I begin to understand the true shape of the problem."

In short order he laid out for her the facts as he understood them—and those that were yet uncertain. From Ardyn's true identity to the origin of the Starscourge. At several points within his tale, Crea's grip on his hand tightened and her face grew more pale. This was the first time she had heard many of these facts as well. She had well and truly stepped beyond the veil.

When he had finished, all sat in silence. For once, Crea and Sylva's expressions mirrored one another: both of shock. But while Crea's was simply the shock of an unpleasant surprise, Sylva's quickly grew to some dawning horror and revelation.

"'The dread plague the wicked hath wrought…'" she whispered.

She startled, her eyes suddenly snapping into focus on Regis. "You say you wonder if this vision he has shown you is true. I tell you now, I fear that it is. Even now words come together in my mind. If it were one passage or two, I might dismiss them as happenstance. But time and time again throughout the Cosmogony and other, older tomes surviving only now in Fenestala, there are hints that this plague is precisely what you claim: the Cosmogony claims the wicked wrought the plague, but so too does it imply that the plague is no more than the just deserts of those wicked people. Other books—I cannot recall the precise wording as we sit here now—but others suggest a tone of justifying one's misdeeds. I wonder now if they have known all along what a mistake they had made."

"Do you suppose there is any contrition to be found among them?" Regis asked.

"One can only hope," Sylva said. Then, once more, a light of understanding crossed her face. "Yes. I believe they do. Or one, at least, among them does."

"If one does, then the others might be made to see reason as well," Regis said.

"Perhaps," Sylva said slowly.

"My quarrel is with the Draconian alone," Regis said. "And while it will benefit us all for his allies to desert him, it is also the case that Lucis cannot weather this storm for much longer. We must act. If the Fulgarian can be made to see reason, perhaps he will back down and stand aside in the face of Bahamut's orders."

"And if not reason, perhaps guilt will sway him," Clarus said.

Sylva was silent, though all eyes remained on her. She stared at a spot on the floor, tapping her fingers against her unpainted lips. At length she seemed to stir from her reverie and looked up once more at Regis.

"If this is your course, then I would aid you," she said. "But Ramuh is not the Astral to speak with first. If you would sway their minds, you must first speak with one sympathetic to your cause. My daughter will help with that."


	40. Affianced

It was reaching into the early hours of morning when at last their meeting adjourned and each left to retire to their respective beds. Save Crea, who lingered behind.

Engaged. They were engaged. That such a change could happen so rapidly refused to sink into his mind. All he could do was stand there holding onto her hands and smile stupidly at her, despite all.

She smiled, though there was a tinge of sadness to it. "So. This is what it's like to see behind the curtains. I suppose I expected something like looking at the back of a set piece and finding it was just a piece of wood and not gold at all. But instead I discover you're allied with the same creature that causes the Starscourge, who happens to be your ancestor, and that you're preparing to wage war on the Draconian."

"When you put it that way, I suppose it makes sense that Clarus has lost his hair," Regis said.

"I may lose mine."

"I hope not." He reached up to sift his fingers through her hair. It had dried in unruly locks during their discussion, but he knew of few things more lovely than the sight of Crea with her hair down. "Do you regret your choice so quickly?"

"No. I don't regret it. I just suppose I was expecting something else when Weskham gave me that grave warning." She smiled wider. "But I suppose that was just one little piece of it all, wasn't it?"

"A very small piece."

She took a step closer to him and he took the opportunity to kiss her: well and truly and almost properly. Engaged. The word still felt out of place in his mind. What would it be to have her as his own and not have to worry about being found out?

He released her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, as if she was awaking from a pleasant dream, and a slow smile spread across her face.

"What happens next?" She asked.

"A great many things, I fear," Regis said. "I will announce our engagement to the council. Likely some will object on principle, but there is little ground for them to stand on once the decision has been made. Then the public announcement will come and we shall have to stand in front of the cameras together for the first time." He traced his fingers along the line of her jaw. "But certainly not the last. Largely, we will be expected only to stand and look regal. Meanwhile, plans will be underway for the ceremony itself. By tradition, that will be anywhere from several months to a few years away. As we are both grown adults, most likely nearer the former. I intend to stay well out of that process. You are more than welcome to take it in hand, if you are so inclined."

"I might," she said. And, after a moment, she added more quietly, "And Reina and Noctis?"

Reina and Noctis. At first he had been all too eager to share the news with them. Now a nervous niggling was threatening to pop the joyful bubble in his stomach. Both twins seemed to get along well with Crea these days, but would they accept her as a mother?

Whatever his face looked like, it caused her to smile up at him and wrap her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"When we first met I was shocked that you could possibly be the king, just because you seemed so real. It was months before I could reconcile the man who came to visit the nursery every night with the one who sat on the throne. And I realized you're a person like everyone else; all those certainties on the throne just hide away the uncertainties everyone has."

"You always saw the deepest of them," Regis said. "Even when I had never meant to share them. In that way, I suppose you have been seeing behind the curtain all along."

She kissed his cheek and hugged him tightly. "We'll tell them first thing in the morning. Together. Goodnight, Regis."

"Goodnight."

Oh but to say goodnight without parting. But those days were still months away. It seemed having what he wished within reach only made it all the more intolerable to be without it for a little longer. Nevertheless he walked her to the door and bid her an improper farewell with the door closed and a proper one in the eyes of the Crownsguards outside. Talk of their engagement would spread through the Crownsguard ranks before the council had even been informed. No matter. They had nothing to hide any longer.

Regis returned to his room and stood in the doorway staring at his empty bed for much too long. Thirteen years ago he had been happily married and expecting a son. Twelve years ago he had not been able to face these rooms at all, for how empty they were. Eleven years ago he had broken down the walls and forced himself to resume his place in the Citadel, however much it pained him to do so.

And tonight he had made plans to once more invite a young woman to live with him. A younger woman, some would note. Some ten years younger, in fact.

What would Aulea have thought of this all?

He turned away from the empty bed and retreated back to his private lounge. A picture of their wedding day sat beside a framed, half-finished needlepoint of a black cat beside a basket of flowers. No man ever married with the intent of marrying twice.

He shifted both frames aside and pulled the photo album from the shelf behind them. Then he shifted his armchair to its old spot near the window, facing Aulea's empty chair, and let the memories fall open in his hands: Aulea sitting on the Citadel steps between Regis and Clarus; Aulea in the front seat of the Regalia while Cor looked uncomfortable; Aulea in a spring dress, surrounded by fresh blooms in the Citadel gardens.

"You would have liked her," he said to the photographs. "She loves our children as well as any mother should, and they love her."

"As do I." It was difficult to admit, while he was staring at pictures of the woman he had long maintained was the only woman he would ever love. But she was gone, as she had been for over a decade now. They had been apart longer than they had been together. And though she could no longer fill his heart with the sunshine she seemed to bring into every room with her, she would never have begrudged him happiness. If she was anywhere, looking down on him, she would smile on his resolve to choose joy.

At some point, he kicked his shoes off and propped his feet up on Aulea's chair with a blanket thrown over his legs, as if they sat together reminiscing over old times. He looked through every page of the photo album, from their shared childhood to their wedding and beyond.

And he woke in the morning to the last page of the book open in his lap: Aulea propped up in bed with one swaddled child in each arm, smiling and exhausted.

It was a poor state to sleep in and a poorer one to wake in. He found himself once more trapped by the photo and days long gone by. He half expected to hear the sound of squalling babies down the hall. He had slept in chairs and on couches quite often in those days.

Someone knocked on the door. Regis struggled to pull his eyes from the photograph and give any response.

"Your Majesty? It's me." Weskham's voice called through the door.

"Enter," Regis managed.

The door opened and shut again. Weskham's footsteps approached and he stopped near enough that Regis could see his well-pressed trousers without lifting his eyes from the photograph.

"I take it you did not get much sleep last night," Weskham said.

"I fear not."

He leaned over Regis' chair to look at the open page of the album and made a sound of understanding. "Having second thoughts?"

His words brought Regis back to the present. The reason he had pulled out this old photo album in the first place, before he had lost himself to memories. He tore his eyes from the picture of Aulea and the twins and looked up at Weskham.

"No," he said. "Not as such. I love Crea and I could not be happier that she has agreed to marry me. Nevertheless, it is strange… I struggle to reconcile these two loves. How can I claim I will give my heart to Crea if I still love Aulea?"

"Perhaps by admitting that it is not the same love that you bear for both of them," Weskham said. "You think it should be—if you're marrying Crea, why wouldn't it be?—But time is a strange thing. We're always turning into new people. And if you consider your life a collection of your past selves, passing down knowledge and wisdom as second-hand or third-hand stories, it's no wonder memories are always degrading. But that's neither here nor there. What's important is this: if you think of yourself as a distinct series of Regises, then you've never even met Aulea. The love you still bear for her isn't the steady love a husband feels for his wife, but the memory of that. And though they are close, the two aren't quite the same thing."

Regis dropped his eyes back to the picture of Aulea. Despite her illness, despite how unwell she had been after giving birth, she was still terribly young.

"She was only twenty-eight when she died," Regis said. Younger even than Crea was now. "When you put it like that, it does seem odd for a forty year old man to pine after a twenty eight year old."

Weskham laughed. A warm, rich sound, which seemed to wash away everything else and leave a fresh slate in its place.

"I'm glad you came to that conclusion on your own," he said.

Regis shut the photo album and passed it to Weskham, who tucked it back onto its place on the bookshelf and rearranged the trinkets in front of it.

"Did you come bearing news, or do you simply have an extra sense for when I've fallen into a pit of my own making and am wallowing in self-pity?" Regis asked.

"Of course I do." Weskham tapped his finger to his lips. "But mum's the word. In any case, I thought you might like to get an early start on the extra tasks we'll have to add to your schedule."

"Like announcing the engagement to the council?"

"And your children and the rest of the world, yes."

Regis groaned. Sometimes even getting precisely what one wanted was too much effort.

"Very well." He pushed himself upright and rose, tossing the blanket back onto Aulea's old armchair. "You shall have your work cut out for you, making me appear presentable."

"Your Majesty," Weskham said, "I am a professional."

Regis smiled despite himself and followed Weskham to the dressing room. "Incidentally. Will you have both those armchairs taken away? I shall have to ask Crea to choose a new pair."

"As you wish, Sire." Despite his reverent words, the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Weskham was nothing if not efficient, even after all those years away. He had Regis dressed in a fresh suit, his hair combed and all traces of disorder from a night spent in an armchair chased away, in under fifteen minutes. Regis stood before the mirror in his dressing room inspecting himself critically while Weskham arranged his crown.

"Wes. You're losing your touch."

"Am I?"

"The last time you performed this task for me, my hair had not nearly so much silver when you were through."

Weskham leveled his head with Regis' and stared at him in the mirror. A few strands of grey were beginning to touch his beard and hair as well. Though not so distinctly as Regis'.

"It's time we faced the facts, Your Majesty. We're just not the same young men anymore." He slapped Regis' shoulder and straightened.

Regis sighed and led the way out of the room. "At least tell me we've grown wiser in our old age."

Weskham trailed him. "Oh, undoubtedly, Sire. I like to think you would no longer steal a car and take it to the far reaches of the city to turn donuts in the empty warehouse lots."

"That car belonged to me," Regis said. "It hardly counts as stealing."

He pushed the hall doors open and out they emerged into the dim and stormy world. Weskham strode beside him and together they made their way to the twins' rooms. The door was open and the raucous sounds of two twelve year olds in the morning were drifting out into the hall.

"Stop using my hairbrush!"

"Miss Crea told me I had to brush my hair!"

"Then use your own!"

"I can't find it! What difference does it make, anyway? We've got the same hair!"

"You leave clumps of tangle in it and never clean it out. You know you're not supposed to just tear out the knots, right?"

"Well what else would I do with them?!"

This was followed by an exasperated sigh and the sound of a slamming door. Regis entered his children's room to find Noctis fuming outside the shut bathroom door.

"Good morning, Noctis."

"Ugh. Morning, Dad." Noctis, dressed casually but with uncombed hair, flopped face first onto his bed. "I hate sisters."

"However would you know? You only have one," Regis said.

"Huh?"

Regis tapped on the bathroom door. "Good morning, Reina, my dear."

The door opened all but immediately. Inside stood Reina, looking pristine and not at all twelve years old.

She beamed at him. "Good morning, Father."

"Dad, tell her to let me use her brush. Miss Crea's going to be mad at me."

Reina's expression shifted from princess to sister so quickly Regis missed the transition entirely. "Well maybe you should take better care of your things. It's not my fault if Miss Crea is mad at you. Father, can I have my own room? I'm tired of sharing with a little boy."

"I'm older than you are!"

"Well you don't act like it!"

"No, I'm just not all hoighty-toighty like some people around here! Maybe _I_ want _my_ own room."

And here Regis had come bearing sensitive tidings into a warzone. He looked around for help and found both Weskham and Crea in the doorway, watching the battle play out with some amusement. Crea's words came back to him: they were bound to grow up and want their own space someday.

"You may _both_ have your own rooms," Regis said, as if this was some concession rather than one necessitating the other. "Our home is certainly large enough. You might choose any suite of rooms on this floor and we shall have it prepared for you."

"I get to choose first." Reina shot a glare at Noctis.

"Fine! Choose! I want my room as far away from yours as possible!"

Regis glanced once more at Crea, who shrugged one shoulder. Somehow, he had the feeling that he had just made several servants' lives more difficult as the prince and princess rearranged all of their belongings across every room on the floor several times over.

Oh well.

Regis cleared his throat. "You may choose after breakfast. For now, I have some important news, and I should like you both to be quiet and present to receive it."

The gravity of his demeanor did wonders. Noctis sat up and turned to face him. Reina dropped her hands from her hips and clasped them instead in front of her, adopting the same seriousness Regis had taken.

Regis glanced at Crea, who took her cue and came to stand beside him.

Now that it came to it, he wasn't certain what to tell them. Perhaps he should have spent the evening considering, rather than losing himself in times long past. He looked between his children: outspoken, graceful Reina and quiet, casual Noctis. What would have become of all three of them if Crea had not returned to the Citadel? Nothing good.

Nothing good.

He cleared his throat again and tried to sift through words. The only ones that came seemed woefully insufficient: "You are both going to have a mother again."

Or perhaps for the first time.

And yet his words met with more confusion than rejoicing. Both Noctis and Reina looked from Regis to Crea and back again.

"But we already have a mother, Father."

"I guess we don't really call you 'Mom,' though," Noctis said to Crea.

"Should we?" Reina asked.

Beside him, Crea was smiling.

"Well," Regis said. "You might, if you like. I suppose, then, it is not so much news as it is making something official, which has already been true for you. Crea and I are engaged to marry, and Lucis shall have a queen once more."

"But that's wonderful, Father!" Reina cried. "Then Miss Crea can be just as much a part of our family to everyone else as she is to us."

"But nothing actually changes, right?" With the news revealed to be something as mundane as: everything is exactly the same as it has always been, Noctis had reverted to his usual, inexpressive self.

"Perhaps not for you," Regis said.

"Great." Noctis flopped back onto his bed.

"Meanwhile, a great many things will change for the rest of us," Regis said.

Noctis made a sound of disinterest.

Reina rolled her eyes at him. "Well, _I'm_ happy for you, Father. Congratulations, Miss Crea." She flashed a mischievous grin and for a moment, Regis could have sworn he was staring at a twelve year old Aulea. "Or shall I call you Mother, now?"

"Maybe not quite yet," Crea said quickly.

In the hall, Avun cleared his throat. "Sire, breakfast is ready to be served in the dining hall."

And that was, for a time, the end of the discussion regarding mothers. The day went on and instead talk was forced to shift to other matters. Largely because Regis was expected in council to deliver similar news to vastly differing responses.

This went more or less as expected: the more conservative of his councilors frowned at the choice but held their tongues or offered grudging congratulations, whereas the more liberal held reactions varying from quiet approval to open rejoicing.

Cryptic Hamon, who had barely scratched the surface of redemption with his timely suggestion of parlaying with Ardyn, actually smiled and gave Regis a nod. Peculiar.

Following this announcement, Regis excused himself from what remained of the council meeting, leaving the ruling council to rule Lucis and handle the endless woes of their current situation while he was swept up by larger matters. Namely, the question of how to negotiate with a god.


	41. Negotiation

Lady Nox Fleuret's sitting room was not empty when they arrived. They were greeted, not only by the Oracle and her daughter, but by Lunafreya's sometimes companion, Gentiana. The woman had an air of divinity about her and an aura of power that he could feel from across the Citadel. Much like Pryna and Umbra, the pair of puppies that roamed the halls of his castle since Lunafreya's return, Gentiana was not what she appeared to be.

She was a Messenger.

As the Oracle was the Speaker of the people, so were the Messengers the mouthpieces of the gods. Given his current alliances and the state of his relationship with the Astrals in general, the fact that three Messengers now roamed free about his home made him all the more uneasy. Yet none of them had spoken openly to him. Until now.

"Your Majesty," Sylva said as they entered. "And Master Amicitia, Master Armaugh. Please join us. I believe you are all acquainted with my daughter and her Messenger companion."

They were seated and pleasantries exchanged, though the Messenger seemed unconstrained by the cultural norms of mortals. She fixed her unsettling gaze on Regis and never once seemed to blink. When the niceties that preceded true conversation had faded away, she spoke.

"The Father King. The Oracle claims you wish to negotiate with the Astrals."

The title gave him pause, distracting him from the subject at hand. Of all that he was, it seemed an uncannily fitting moniker. And yet, was it possible that the Astrals had given it? He had no notion that they were even aware of _who_ he was, beyond the name that guarded the crystal for the current generation.

Regis managed to pull his thoughts from the name and fix them instead on the conversation. "Indeed I do. I hope to put an end not only to the suffering in Lucis, but the suffering that has ravaged all of Eos for thousands of years."

"This suffering is not yours to end. Only the Chosen King can destroy the darkness and bring back light to the world," Gentiana said.

"I do not believe that. My daughter has seen visions of a brighter future with no Caelum blood shed. For my part, I wish to see it come to fruition."

"Is this your true goal?" She asked. "Or do you seek only to weaken the Draconian and do the bidding of your dark companion?"

A conversation he had hoped not to have. But of course she would know. Somehow she would have found out about his conversations with Ardyn.

"Companion is too strong a word for our association," Regis said. "And I do no one's bidding."

A smile quirked her lips. "Not even the bidding of the Draconian."

"No," Regis agreed. And if they were going to air all the dirty laundry at once: "And I wish to see justice done where justice is deserved."

Here she fell quiet and the smile faded from her face. Her gaze drifted through him and past him. When she spoke, it was in a faraway voice, as if reciting:

"' _Where once was light, bring dark; where once was life, bring death; where once was joy, bring suffering. These bonds we make to never break. Unto the wicked, the dread plague is served. This we swear, of six minds and souls."_

When she focused on him again, sadness was in her eyes. "Justice you speak of. For the suffering The Six have wrought, it is redemption we crave."

She spoke as if she had been there. Truly, the Messengers may have been as perpetual as the Astrals, but in Ardyn's vision—and in her words as well—only the Six were implied to have been involved.

"If it is redemption you crave, then stand with me and aid me in ending this darkness," Regis said.

"To sway the Fulgarian, the Hydraean, and the Arcaean, the Father King will require a strong argument. This missing piece of the puzzle. The answer they already know but have not yet accepted. There is another way to end the Starscourge plague without the death of the Chosen King."

"And what is that way?" Regis asked.

Gentiana shook her head. "The Dreamer must tell you, Father King. If one of their own betrays them, they will only unite against you."

All this to be told, still, that his daughter held the answers. He had known that from the start, but the potential to Dream did not give her the ability to see what she wanted.

He bit back his frustration. "She has been trying to see a way through this for years to no avail. If you truly mean to help, then help us."

"Help has been granted," Gentiana said. "To see the truth, the Father King must do what he fears most. The answer has ever been within his grasp."

And that was the last he was able to wring from her.

They withdrew, feeling only slightly more well-informed and considerably more frustrated with the situation.

"It's like talking to an old woman in a hut in the middle of a swamp," Clarus said. "Do you think we should get her some eyeballs in glass jars, or a crystal ball to wave her hands over?"

Regis smiled grimly. "I suppose we should expect no better from a Messenger."

"If nothing else, we have some confirmation of our course," Weskham said. "Her words seem to imply that the Astrals can be reasoned with."

"True enough," Regis agreed. Though the information she had given them was patchy at best, she had confirmed that his idea was not so ridiculous as it might have seemed at first glance. Negotiate with the Gods. No small task. But perhaps not an impossible one.

Now he only needed to convince the Starscourge that the Gods could be reasoned with and learn the secret to negotiation from a little girl who could see the future.

When had his life become a bad fairytale?

Perhaps when he had been born into a royal family sworn to protect a magic crystal. Or when his son had been the Chosen King.

She said he must do what he feared most. And what was that? Endangering his children? Surely he had done enough of that lately.

The upper levels held no comforts for him, when he sought solitude and refuge there. What he found, instead, was chaos.

Reina stood in the midst of the storm while servants flowed around her, transporting bits and pieces of her room down the hall. "That's _my_ pillow."

"It is not! You never use it!"

"Only because you always put your stinky butt on it to play video games!"

Noctis threw down the pillow in question—a long, U-shaped pillow of grey fleece—and sat on it. "Well my stinky butt's on it now! Still want it?"

Reina huffed and stomped her foot. Her eyes lighted on Regis. "Father! Noctis is stealing my things!"

And to think this was the same young woman on whom the fate of Lucis—no, all of Eos—rode. So she was a preteen girl underneath after all. While that was comforting on a superficial level, it did nothing to solve the conundrum he found himself in. He had unwittingly walked into a warzone and reinforcements were nowhere in sight.

What would Crea have done?

"My dear ones, as there has previously been questionable distinction between some possessions, you shall simply have to make do with the ancient art of negotiation. If no agreement can be reached, neither of you will keep the object in question," Regis said.

Reina and Noctis stared at him, then at each other.

"So if Rei says she doesn't want the pillow, it's mine?" Noctis lifted partway off the pillow and rubbed his butt across it.

Regis sighed. "Where is Miss Crea?"

"You mean _Mom_?" Noctis asked.

They never should have had that conversation. If Noctis and Reina were heard calling Crea 'Mother' before the engagement was even announced…

"She's been pulled away for a dress fitting," Reina said. "For the press conference."

A dress for the press conference.

Not for the first time in his life, Regis was pleased to have precisely one variety of clothing in his closet. He could count on one hand the number of times someone had come to him and insisted he needed a new suit for an event. And why not? The old ones looked precisely the same when all was said and done.

"Then I fear you shall have to settle your disagreements without mediation until she returns," Regis said.

Perhaps it made him a poor father. Or at least a highly preoccupied one. But he left them to practice the important royal family skill of negotiation on their own and withdrew to his own quarters. He had to pass by a small army of servants transporting belongings and furniture in order to do so. But he found his rooms blissfully quiet and well looked after.

In the cold damp, a fire was most welcoming.

"It's a lovely place you have here."

A voice from behind the door made him turn. And there stood Ardyn Izunia. No. Ardyn Lucis Caelum. Let him have his proper name within Regis' mind, if nowhere else.

"Have you always been able to walk, unmolested, into my home?"

"Anywhere there is darkness, I roam freely."

Regis lowered into an armchair by the fire and invited Ardyn do the same. There was a cadence to his stride that suggested he walked to a tune only audible to his own ears.

Ardyn sprawled in the chair across from him. "Perhaps that is the reason I find it so easy to walk in your dreams at night."

A discomforting thought, but not an inaccurate one.

"And what is it that brings you to my dark rooms this afternoon?"

"I want your kingdom," he said unceremoniously. "You've said yourself: I am the rightful king of Lucis. Isn't it your duty, as an honorable man, to pass it back to my hands?"

Bargaining with Ardyn was like playing with a loaded gun. With a hair trigger. Which was sometimes set off by things other than pulling the trigger.

Regis pursed his lips. "Sanity must temper my honor, as you well know."

Ardyn sighed. "Then however do you intend to keep me well-behaved in our little arrangement? You have yet to pay on your promises."

"That is also false. Need I remind you that _you_ came to _me_ for this arrangement?"

"That's true. And you _did_ leave your little princess all unguarded at my behest." He rose from his chair and Regis was reminded sharply of another restless and manic man, whose loss of love had sent him spiraling into a pit of madness Regis could never pull him out of.

He hadn't been able to save Spero. Nor would he be able to save Ardyn. That knowledge needed to temper his actions.

"Why, I could simply take her," Ardyn said.

And with no more warning than that, a great cloud of blackness rose up around him, eating away his form until he was swallowed by it. Regis leapt to his feet. But before he could cross the room, the miasma had dissipated. And Ardyn was gone.

Damn him. What was Regis to do with a man who had more machinations and hidden motivations than the entire empire put together? He couldn't simply be put aside in the hopes that his mischief was non-destructive. He couldn't be cast out. He had to be kept close. Just like a certain member of Regis' council, who couldn't be trusted while left to his own devices.

Ardyn and Hamon. Why not throw them in one room and hope that, if they didn't destroy each other first, whatever came out of their twisted minds was more beneficial than harmful?

Gods. It was such a terrible idea.

The sort that was so absurd that it might just work.


	42. Two Snakes

"Are you at all sure that this is a wise idea?" Clarus asked.

"Not in the least."

They were standing in a small servant's chamber off a larger lounge, where Ardyn poked about, inspecting every vase in every corner. It had been unsurprisingly difficult to pin him down in the physical world and convince him to appear as asked.

"Boy's gone mad," Cid said. "Senile. Time to pass the throne to the prince and hang him out to dry."

"Make up your mind, Cid. Is he too young or too old? You can't keep both sets of jokes up indefinitely," Clarus said.

"When you're my age, they're the same thing," Cid said.

"Then why, might I ask, are we doing it?" Weskham steered the conversation back to where it had begun.

"Because I am running out of ideas. Lucis is drowning, Reina has Dreamed nothing to tell us how to stop it, Niflheim has retreated only temporarily on account of their daemons having turned against them, the Draconian wants my son dead, and the Starscourge wants me to fight the Gods," Regis said.

"So you're throwing fire at more fire and hoping it doesn't make a bigger fire?" Cor asked.

"In a word," Regis agreed.

A knock came to the outer door. Ardyn straightened abruptly from his inspection of the windowsill and dropped onto the chaise lounge. Regis entered the main lounge, followed shortly by his retinue, and called for Hamon to enter.

He did. The doors opened just enough to admit him and he slipped inside, keen eyes taking in every detail of the room and its occupants. Though he bowed to Regis, his eyes landed on Ardyn and a light of interest took his face.

"Chancellor Izunia," Hamon said. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

His words were polite, but guarded. The tiger let loose with the lion, not the cat that had swallowed the canary.

"I prefer King Ardyn," Ardyn said.

"Don't we all?" Hamon asked.

"Yeah. No way this goes wrong," Cor muttered. "You really plan to leave them here alone?"

"No," Regis said. "I plan to leave them here well guarded."

He eyed Cor pointedly. Cor looked as if he had been asked to consume a bucket of live snakes, rather than watch a pair of them. Nevertheless, he took up a guard position by the door and stared straight ahead.

With that taken care of Regis and the others withdrew. Ardyn and Hamon would not speak candidly before the king, but perhaps they would overlook the presence of a single Crownsguard. Regardless, he expected to hear three different tales of what had occurred when this meeting was over.

It was unsurprisingly difficult to keep his mind on other tasks, over the next few hours. The only updates that came to his study were that refreshments had been served and the doors remained shut.

"Well no one has reported hearing screams," Clarus noted. "So at least we know Cor hasn't murdered them yet."

"Don't be absurd, Clarus," Weskham said. "If Cor was going to murder them, he'd be more discreet than that."

It took the better part of four hours before word came that the meeting had adjourned and that Hamon had left the lounge—though the chancellor was nowhere to be seen. Regis sent orders that Hamon was to be summoned to him to report.

He needn't have bothered. No sooner had the runner left to find him than Hamon arrived at Regis' study with Cor at his heels.

"Damn near promised him half of Lucis," Cor said before Hamon could manage a word.

Regis glanced sharply at Cor and motioned for the doors to be shut. "Cor, you may report to me after. Master Hamon, please tell me what has occurred."

He folded himself into an armchair and the others did much the same.

Hamon cleared his throat. "The imperial chancellor has made a series of demands under the pretense that he must be provided with something to placate him until the true purpose of your alliance is fulfilled." He paused here, as if to allow Regis to wonder whether the true purpose had been discussed during this meeting. It mattered little at this point.

"Few of these things truly interest him, unless I am very much mistaken. He seemed more interested in seeing how his demands would be received than actually having them met."

Regis waited for him to come to the heart of the matter. By the door, Cor stood, statuesque, and stared dead ahead as if this were the only way to prevent himself from speaking out of turn.

"Among his more outlandish requests was having _his_ kingdom returned to him and him reinstated as the rightful king of Lucis. At a guess, I should say he has no interest in actually ruling a kingdom, but takes delight in causing torment. The thought of catching you between two impossible demands and watching you squirm doubtless gives him pleasure to no end."

This was not news, precisely, but Hamon had confirmed Regis' silent suspicions about some of Ardyn's more obtuse motivations.

"Needless to say, I have brushed aside his more absurd suggestions with light laughter. Failure to engage with these suggestions should, unless I am very much mistaken, disperse them altogether," Hamon concluded. He paused here to take a drink from the tall glass of water Avun had poured for him before continuing. "Now onto the meat of the matter. It is my professional opinion that he would, with some aid from Lucis, be perfectly capable of dismantling Niflheim entirely from within. Sparing that, he could certainly keep them busy enough to prevent them from giving any thought to nations outside their current borders for a very long time. As we have discussed, it remains a matter of motivation. After digging through layer upon layer of toy demands, we at last settled upon one that, I believe, he is well within his rights to ask for in exchange for ending this war."

He paused here again. And, over the rim of his glass, he offered Regis a sly smile. He needed no more than that for Regis to guess what this demand pertained to.

"The princess' gifts," Hamon said. "The chancellor has requested she be permitted to Dream for him."

Regis fought back his initial impulse to refuse even the suggestion and swallowed the taste of bile. He should have known this was precisely what would come of putting Hamon and Ardyn in the same room together.

"I see," Regis said instead, though it took all his self control to appear outwardly unmoved. "And has he given any further instruction upon that point?"

"Merely that, given _permission_ , he would be capable of meeting her and guiding her to look ahead as per his specifications."

Surely he could have done that anyway. He had already met with Reina in the In Between. What was stopping him from dropping hints in another nighttime conversation as to what she should search for when next she Dreamed?

Perhaps—he hoped—the knowledge that Reina would disregard suggestions not approved by Regis. Or perhaps the possibility that, if he abused his connection with Reina, the fragile alliance he had built with Regis would shatter.

"Thank you, Master Hamon," Regis said. "You may rest assured that I shall take this offer into due consideration. Your services are greatly appreciated."

Regis motioned to Cor, who took a step forward. Hamon rose in the same instant, choosing to take the dismissal as it came rather than be explicitly escorted out.

He bowed low. "Your Majesty. I can only advise that you make a wise choice."

And with that unasked-for piece of counsel, he turned and showed himself out of Regis' study.

"Snake," Cor said as soon as the door was shut.

"Indeed," Clarus said. "I cannot help but wonder: was it him or Ardyn who made the suggestion of exchanging Reina's foresight for favors against Niflheim?"

Cor took up Hamon's vacated seat, pushed his half-drunk glass of water aside, and put his boots up on Regis' coffee table. "It was him. Bastard's been after the princess' magic since he knew it existed. If you want my opinion, he's hoping the chancellor will repay a favor with a favor and have her look where _he_ wants."

"A distinct possibility. And one we should keep in mind moving forward," Clarus agreed. " _If_ we move forward. Alternatively, we should have to establish a counter-offer and deliver it to Ardyn personally. Given that Hamon has his own motivations in the mix now, we cannot trust him to negotiate an alternative."

"What else would we offer?" Weskham asked. "The whole point of this was to learn what he wanted."

"And instead we only learned what Hamon wanted. Fat lot of good that does us," Cor said.

"I suppose that was inevitable. But we did learn what Ardyn is willing to accept, whether to humor Hamon or otherwise," Clarus said. "Perhaps this offer could be used as an opportunity to learn more of his deeper motivations. If we knew what he would ask Princess Reina to Dream of, we might have a greater understanding of what he wishes to gain."

"Besides the death of Bahamut," Cor said darkly.

"That's a fair idea," Weskham said. "What are your thoughts, Regis?"

Silence fell.

"Regis?" Clarus prompted.

That was his name. The sort of question one usually responded to. Yet he struggled to do so.

Until this point, their words had drifted, a continuous stream, through his mind. Beneath it all ran a low and growing scream. He forced his eyes back into focus and looked at Clarus.

"I beg pardon, my friends," he managed, "But I believe I should like a moment to myself."

Following the stunned silence came the shuffle of his retinue rising and hastening out the door with little more ceremony than that. And he was alone.

He could end this war. Leave an era of peace and prosperity in its wake and negate the need for the Wall and the drain of the Ring all before he passed the throne on to his children.

He could seize what was left of his life as his own, without feeling the constant drain of power beneath the ever-leeching Ring.

He could accomplish everything he wanted with but a few words.

All he had to do was sell his daughter.

It wasn't clear how long he sat in his chair, staring at nothing as those few thoughts chased each other around his mind. Minutes ticked by on the clock above the mantle. When next he glanced at it, the hour hand had marched past several numbers.

A knock came to his study door. When it went unanswered, a second knock came, and Avunculus calling "Your Majesty?"

When that, too, passed without response they left him alone. For a little while. Then the knocking returned, more insistently.

"Regis?" Clarus called.

A moment passed before the door cracked open and a face appeared around it. Clarus', perhaps. Regis didn't turn his head to look. The face withdrew and the door closed once more. Silence fell.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't offer up his little girl to end the war any more than he could have offered up his son to end the darkness. Perhaps it was different. Perhaps this would not kill her, but there was no telling what passing her unguarded into the hands of a snake like Ardyn would do to a child of twelve.

Arguably, it should have been her choice. The magic, as he had always said, was hers, and she alone could choose what to Dream. He had sworn he would not guide her Dreams to futures that would benefit Lucis. He had sworn he would not limit her life in that way. But to give her the offer—would you like to speak with this man and hear what he has to say?—without the added knowledge that if she did not, the war would continue and the Wall would drain her father dry, was that not a reasonable choice?

Save that no reasonable father would put his child in a room with Ardyn Lucis Caelum and close the door.

The hour hand had skipped a few more numbers. The knocking returned; this time it was a more tentative tapping.

"Regis?"

The only voice that could call him from this swirling storm. Crea.

He tried to open his mouth, to call for her to enter, but no response came from his body. His muscles were tense and unmoving, rooted to the spot.

The door opened anyway. Unlike Clarus, Crea did not withdraw upon seeing him precisely where he had been for the past several hours. Days, maybe, by now. She shut the door behind her and came to him. Her movement drew his eyes as nothing else had been able to: she wore a dress, which slithered softly as she moved. He held his hand out to her without meaning to and she took it, allowing him to pull her into his lap and wrap his arms around her.

"Clarus told me what happened," she said. And nothing more. Because there was nothing more to be said.

"I swore never to use her," Regis said. "Not to extend my life. Not to spare me some pain and weakness. Not even to end this Gods damned war."

She shifted so she sat astride his lap and held his head against her chest. The steady thrumming of her heart lulled him. He wrapped his arms more tightly about her and shut his eyes.

"I understand." Though her voice was just a murmur, it echoed in his ears. "We protect them. At any cost."

He shifted, loosening his hold on her enough to look into her eyes. "You do not disagree with me?"

"Of course not. And I intend to stand beside you and ensure that you have the support you need to keep your word." She said it so simply: the decision made already. He could not exchange a twelve-year-old for peace. He had sworn he never would and that was that. The only thing that stood between him and a definitive decision was the fact that everyone he knew would object.

Save Crea.

"You're forgetting that I'm a mother first and a queen… not at all, if we're being perfectly honest," she said.

The mother his children had never had.

"Crea." He rested his forehead against her sternum and shut his eyes again.

"Hm?" She pressed her lips to his greying hair.

"Bless you."


	43. Preteen

As the news of a possible end to the war had not spread beyond Regis' inner circle, the news that the king had rejected it made little difference on the grand scale of things. But his retinue, who had foolishly taken for granted that Regis would accept the offer, were—to say the least—displeased.

"I understand you want to protect your daughter," Weskham said, "But you need to think clearly, Regis. The end of this war may mean millions of lives in the long run. And, when all is said and done, we have no way to win without Ardyn's help: all of this will be passed on to your children anyway."

The same objections he had thrown at himself. Reina and Noctis would inevitably have to deal with the war in their own time, if not now. Would he not be protecting Reina if he used her to protect Lucis?

A hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up into Crea's face and found, not the kind expression of the caretaker he knew and loved, but the look of a woman prepared to fight tooth and nail for her children.

Regis covered her hand with his.

"We do not know that the war will be passed on to them. I mean to see that it does not: and without putting twelve-year-olds on a bargaining table," he said.

"She has shown nothing but eagerness to speak with Ardyn," Clarus said. "Why not permit her to?"

Crea's hand tightened on his shoulder. "'Why not permit her to?'" She repeated, voice tight with emotion. "Your daughter is eight. Why don't you allow her to attend Crownsguard training with Gladio, like she begs every morning? Why did you prevent Gladiolus from joining the strike team outside the Wall when the empire struck, though he pleaded to be brought along? Because sometimes we understand the risks better than our children do, Master Amicitia, and sometimes what they want is not what is best for them."

Her fingers would leave red marks in Regis' shoulder before she was through lecturing.

"As for the rest of you: how dare you try to convince your king to compromise his morals and give his twelve year old daughter to a madman? How dare you suggest that might be a worthy cause or an acceptable price to pay? How dare you push him to break his word?"

Not a one of them was not shamed or cowed by her words. Clarus hung his head, hands clenched on the arms of his chair. Weskham turned aside, arms folded and eyes closed. Cid looked past them, a faraway look of regret in his eyes. Even Cor had averted his gaze before the fire of Crea's maternal rage.

Queen-consort in all but name.

"His Majesty's decision has been passed onto you," she said, "The time for discussion and debate is over. This is not a matter he requires your counsel on. Now leave."

The silence that followed was more than half a stunned response to her dismissal. It was Weskham who rose first, bowed to both of them, and moved for the door. The others followed after, in various states of confusion.

Regis squeezed her hand. Bit by bit the death grip she held on his shoulder loosened.

"They are all good men," Regis said. "Though we may disagree."

She sighed. "I know. But two of them, at least, are fathers and should know better."

It would always be easier to put another man's children in jeopardy than one's own children.

Following their private discussion and Crea's definitive dismissal of the subject, Regis' retinue, at least, accepted the choice and moved on. The issue remained that Hamon knew more than was comfortable. For the moment, that was dealt with by neglecting to deliver any form of conclusion to him. But such evasion only worked for so long before he requested a private audience with Regis and asked. Though there remained the possibility of simply insisting they were considering all options and had not made a decision, lying to Hamon tended to be a dangerous option.

So he told the truth.

Which Hamon received without surprise. Though something like disappointed resignation settled on his features.

"I see," he said. "May I say, Your Majesty, that when I counselled you to make a wise choice, this is not the one I had in mind."

"And full aware am I, Master Hamon," Regis said. "Your own motivations, notwithstanding. However, the choice has been made. If there is nothing else?"

Hamon bowed himself out of Regis' study. Doubtless he would not let the matter lie, but for now at least it was in the open. And for the moment, Ardyn had yet to make an appearance and object to the choice. For all Regis knew, he had no interest in Reina's magic at all and had merely taken the suggestion in order to cause strife.

On a more positive front, the gears were set in motion for Regis' engagement to Crea. As the council had no grounds to object on, the press conference moved forward and a public announcement was made.

Beneath a sea of umbrellas they gathered, Crea in her new dress and Regis in the same suit he wore most every day, to stand before the cameras and assembled press. The reaction was explosive and almost entirely positive. Despite—or perhaps due to—the perpetually rotten weather, the people of Lucis were ecstatic to receive news of a future queen.

For days after the press conference, pictures of Regis and Crea standing together in front of the Citadel peppered every newspaper across Lucis. And for weeks after, newspapers and magazines printed story upon story of the fairytale romance that had elevated a common Insomnia-born girl from wet-nurse to future Queen-consort.

"They've even dragged up my mother's death and—and everything—!" Crea slapped a newspaper down on the coffee table in the royal lounge.

Regis pursed his lips. "I fear you have underestimated the persistence of the press, my dear."

" _Don't_ call her that." Reina had stepped out of the hall and into the lounge. She was dressed as if to go out, though it was already late evening. Crowe, her ever-present shadow, stood one step behind her.

Regis raised his eyebrows at her, more surprised than anything to have such a sharp look leveled in his direction.

"Call her what?" Regis asked at length.

"'My dear,'" She spat the words like an insult. "That's _my_ name. So don't you dare call her anything you call me."

Before Regis could gather up the scattered bits of his brain and fit them back together inside his head, Reina had swept through the lounge and disappeared down the stairs.

Regis was still gaping when he caught Crea's eye. "What have I said?"

Crea shrugged. "A few more months and you'll have two teenagers on your hands. Better learn what makes them tick while you're ahead."

When Regis continued to stare at her, she motioned pointedly toward the stairs. "That means go after her, you big dumb-dumb!"

He shut his mouth with a snap and did as she advised—though he did pause to give her a kiss first. "Are you certain you'll be alright? The papers—"

"I'm fine. I've got thick skin. And you better have too, when you go face an angry princess."

Yes. Well. That was quite another matter altogether, wasn't it? And when had Reina ever taken such a tone with him before?

Since she had been twelve and a half, perhaps.

"And Regis? Keep in mind that until very recently, she's been accustomed to being the only woman in your life."

"Right," he managed.

He hastened after Reina, which turned out to be more of an issue than it would have, had he not dallied in the first place. Reina was not downstairs. According to the Crownsguards, she had taken the lift as soon as descending to the next level. And it was anyone's guess where she had stepped out again. If not for the fact that the Citadel was swarming with guards and that every guard was connected via radio, it might have been an impossible errand.

Thankfully, it was not.

He followed Reina down to the lower levels and, not far from the grand gallery, caught a snippet of conversation echoing from ahead. Voices carried well in silent Citadel halls.

"Your Highness. If I might have a word?"

Hamon. Damn that man. Reina, distressed, had fled straight into him. At least she had Crowe with her. Nevertheless, Regis picked up his pace.

"I have somewhere to be, Master Hamon," Reina said in clipped tones.

"Then I shall speak quickly and walk beside you, if that suits you?"

Whether she indicated that it did or not, the sound of their footsteps implied he was doing so.

"I wondered if your father had discussed with you the matter of Chancellor Izunia's offer?"

"He has not."

"I see. Well, far be it from me to step around the king, but it was a matter of great importance, and I merely thought—"

"You think I am very naive, don't you, Master Hamon?"

The sound of footsteps had stopped. It took a moment before Regis realized that was because he, too, had stopped walking at the sudden sharp words from his daughter.

"I suppose you think you might drop hints and get me to do precisely what you would like me to do. Is that not so?" Reina asked. "I fear you are in for something of a surprise then. You see, this magic is mine and I shall Dream whatever it is I choose to Dream. It is not at your beck and call, whatever you may be in this kingdom. And you cannot lead me by dropping trails of sweets and expecting me to follow them."

Regis forced his feet to move again. Surely it was Reina's voice. Though if not for the last words she had uttered before fleeing the upper levels, he might have insisted it was Crowe speaking for her. But no. Crowe lacked the carefully cultured tones of a Caelum. No one but a princess could muster such indignation.

"I have no interest in your baiting tactics. Now, if you will excuse me, I have somewhere to be. Good evening."

The footsteps resumed. Regis rounded the corner and nearly ran into Hamon, who stood in the center, looking stunned as Regis had never known him to be.

"I see you have met my teenage daughter," Regis said. "And now, may I advise you to make a _wise_ choice?"

He passed Hamon by and swept after Reina. It was not difficult to overtake her at a rapid pace, not least of all because she turned and looked over her shoulder when she heard him approach.

"Father." She stopped walking and addressed him in guarded tones. "I suppose you followed and overheard my conversation with Master Hamon?"

"I did, though that was not my intent."

"Well. Good then. You should know I don't need to be coddled."

Regis opened and shut his mouth several times before words came out. "I sense I have done something to displease you."

"You know full well what you did."

He had called Crea 'my dear.' The why, perhaps was more important than the what, and yet that was still lacking. Crea's words came back to him, along with a conversation he and Reina had shared when she had still been of both a size and inclination to sit in his lap while he worked in his study.

"Reina. My dearest," he said, choosing the moniker deliberately. "I wish it went without saying that having Crea join our family does not change how much I love you. But I fear, perhaps, in a flurry of other events, I have neglected to emphasize that you are—and always will be—my little girl. My princess. My dearest Reina. And if that is the case then I apologize. The truth is that I would give my life and so much more to protect you: such is how precious you are to me. And so I can easily swear not to apply names to Crea that I have already given to you, if it truly troubles you so much."

"It does." She folded her arms over her chest and looked aside. A flush grew on her cheeks. "Do you really love me more than anything?"

"I do."

"More than Lucis?"

Once the question would have caught him off-guard and left him uncertain how to answer it. In light of the choices he had just made with regard to Lucis' future and hers, he could now answer it easily.

"More than Lucis."

She chewed her bottom lip, which smeared lipstick on her teeth. Regis held his hands out to her and, after a moment's hesitation, she came and allowed him to gather her up in his arms. She was still small enough that he could lift her off her feet, but given how dignified she was trying to be lately, he refrained. Instead he merely hugged her tight against his chest and kissed her hair. And they stood for some time, in silence, that way before a question struck him.

"Where was it you needed to be?" He asked.

"Um. I was going to see Ravus."

" _Ravus_? At this time of the evening?"

She groaned and pushed away, breaking the hug. "It isn't even late."

"Reina. You know you are not meant to see Prince Ravus without a chaperone." He had meant to sound reasonable. Judging by the huff she gave and the way she balled her fists on her hips, it had not come across that way.

"Well why not? You never have a chaperone when you see Miss Crea!"

Regis pursed his lips. "No, indeed."

And where was Crea when he needed her? Upstairs, safely avoiding the preteen years. He would simply have to deal with them himself.

"Well maybe you should," Reina said.

"Perhaps we should," Regis agreed. All things considered, it was a sensible idea. Also one he opposed with every ounce of solitude-seeking-adulthood inside him.

Ah. So that was what it felt like to be a teenager. Yes, he recalled those years now.

Reina looked taken aback that he had agreed. He pressed his advantage.

"You do, I note, have Crowe with you," he conceded.

"Yes…" Reina said slowly, with caution.

"If, perhaps, she guards from a discrete distance, during your evening walk to… whatever secluded parts of the castle you should choose to visit, I could be persuaded to forget everything I know about your whereabouts tonight."

She studied him, eyes narrowed. Her gaze flicked to Crowe, then back to him. "We have an accord."

Regis smiled. "Excellent. And Reina? I love you more than Eos. Even when you are upset with me. Remember that, my dearest."

He turned to spare her the trouble of trying to think up a suitable response, and began to make his way back to the elevator.

"Father," Reina called after him. He looked over his shoulder. "I love you even when I'm mad at you!"

He smiled and kept walking. Perhaps they would make it through the teenage years after all.


	44. Like Father

Despite the fact that Reina and Noctis had moved into rooms on opposite sides of the north Citadel tower, they were still both in Noctis' rooms when Regis came to find them at bedtime. They lay flung among a pile of pillows on the floor, fingers entwined and whispering furtively to one another.

Regis tapped at the open door. "Am I interrupting?"

They startled, both struggling upright as the conversation died. Evidently he was. But it was bedtime all the same.

"Not at all, Father," Reina said. "We were just… talking."

Thick as thieves. Who was it that had called Noctis a noisome brat just earlier this morning? Surely not the same girl that now sat on the floor with him. Just talking.

Teenagers, Crea had warned him, were wont to keep secrets from their parents. So long as they were not dangerous secrets, they should be allowed their privacy.

"How am I to tell if they are dangerous secrets, if I hardly know the content?" He had asked.

"You won't," she had said. "The point is to trust them. Trust them to take care of small problems themselves and to bring bigger problems to someone bigger. And if you can place that trust in them, they'll be much more likely to place the same in you and come to your door when they need help."

It was going to be a long several years, these teenaged times. And they weren't even thirteen.

"Well, much as I detest being the bearer of bad news, it is bedtime," Regis said to them. "So. How shall we do this?"

It was decided that, for tonight at least, they would have a bedtime story in Noctis' room before Reina went to her own bed. Because, for tonight at least, they were feeling agreeable toward each other.

Reina's lessons in Dreaming had resumed with the breaking down of Regis' barriers. And so, after the bedtime story was complete, he tucked her into her own bed and sat down beside her in a room that felt much too large for such a small girl.

"Father… is there anything else I should know to Dream of?" She asked. "Besides the Fulgarian?"

It was not a question she usually asked him. How deeply had Hamon's words sunken in? She had brushed him off quickly enough, but she knew that Ardyn had made an offer and that, in some shape or form, the outcome was important enough for Hamon to suggest she Dream on it.

"Go where your heart takes you," Regis said, hoping this would be enough to keep her from dwelling on Hamon's suggestion for long.

She pursed her lips, disappointed, but nodded. And she shut her eyes. There was always the possibility that where her heart took her was precisely what Hamon wished her to Dream—and what Regis wished her not to Dream. And therein lay his fears. If she Dreamed all that could come to pass, what would she do with that information? What would he? If he knew every outcome of accepting Ardyn's offer… were there truly risks at all?

For one night, at least, his concerns were put on hold. No Dreams of potential futures came to Reina and, once he had tucked her in a second time and left her to sleep through the night, he had a full day before he needed to consider those troubling possibilities again.

In the meantime, life went on. In the wake of the press conference announcing Regis' engagement to Crea, Crea had taken up wedding planning. Mostly, this added one more thing in their schedules to keep them apart. As Reina had aptly noted, this was likely for the best. But it certainly didn't feel that way. On those rare occasions when they sat and shared quiet conversation over a cup of hot tea, she thankfully refrained from asking his opinion on too many details—the first few had been more than enough.

"Plan it however you like," he told her. "The only thing that matters to me is the bride."

That had them smiling stupidly at each other in silence for several minutes. After that, she kept wedding planning details out of their rare evening conversations.

Reina seemed to spend a great many hours with Crowe, those days. When she wasn't occupied with her duties elsewhere, she was with Crowe—having quiet and private discussions in her new rooms or out in the training hall. Ever since it had occurred to her that she had her own Kingsglaive bodyguard, she had begged off lessons with Gladio in favor of those with Crowe.

"Get your little ass in gear, Princess! You tryna fall behind?!"

It was not a tone he usually heard taken toward his daughter. And yet there was no doubting the words that had come drifting down the hall. Regis' brows came together in the center and he adjusted his course.

"Ten!—you're gonna have to do better than that, Highness—eleven!—Don't you dare wimp out on me, girl—twelve!—"

He rounded the corner and the training hall came into view. The doors, thrown full open, showed a pair of dark-haired young women in loose training gear, the smaller on her hands and toes in push-up position while the other stood over her, back to the door.

"Thirteen!—You're getting sloppy! Tighten up that core!" The taller of the pair struck the underside of Reina's bare stomach and her form straightened.

Regis clenched his fists and picked up his pace. Outside of today, he had heard Crowe Altius speak no more than a handful of muted words. But he could place her without seeing her face, nevertheless. When he had assigned her to protect his daughter, this was not precisely what he had had in mind.

"Fourteen!—Let's go, Princess! I want to see sweat _dripping_ —Fifteen!—If you can still hear me through the pounding—Sixteen!—Then you're not working hard enough!"

On the next dip, Reina's arms quivered and gave out. Her chin hit the floor. For a time she just lay, panting, on the hardwood. But doubtless Crowe would stand for that not at all. In another breath she would be shouting and hauling Reina up, even though she clearly—

"Heh. Not bad for a pampered princess." Crowe dropped onto the floor next to her, sitting cross-legged and reaching the water bottle nearby, which she promptly passed over. Reina rolled onto her back to receive it.

Reina gulped down mouthful after mouthful of water until she needed to breathe. She slumped back to the ground, panting, and peered up at Crowe. "Still can't hit twenty."

"Eh. You'll get there. Months take longer when you're not that old, but honestly you'll make it in no time, working like you are."

"And then what?"

"Then we keep pushing."

Regis has stopped walking. He stood in the hall outside the door; he might have been clearly visible if either of them had turned toward the door, but they were engrossed. His desire to intervene had fled and in its place was the growing inkling that he was eavesdropping on what should have been a private conversation.

"Remember what I said," Crowe continued, "When you're a girl you have to work harder to do the same stuff the boys do. They're always going to expect less of you. So we prove them wrong."

Regis turned and tiptoed sheepishly away from the training hall, leaving princess and Glaive to their training talk. And to think he had very nearly intervened. Old fool that he was.

The next time he passed by the training hall during Reina and Crowe's hours, Iris and Cindy had joined. Regis merely grinned and shook his head. He left them to it.

Days passed. Bit by bit, Regis began to convince himself that Reina would not Dream as Hamon had suggested she should—or had begun to suggest she should, in any case. Though she seemed often restless and fidgety upon waking from her nightly lessons—if they could truly be called that when he did little save watch over her—he put this down to displeasure at not being able to see anything of use.

In truth, there was a certain impatience about him as well. Gentiana had suggested that Reina knew—or could find—the correct way to bargain with a god. And yet nothing. They had spoken of it only briefly after his meeting with the Messenger. Each time he thought to bring it up, he was dismayed by the look of disappointment on her face. She knew as well as he that her Dreams were their only lead in this. Reminding her would do nothing, save make her more distressed.

And so he sat beside her bed, counting minutes on the wall clock and awaiting—with very little hope—the results of her dip into the Black River.

"Father…" Reina shifted in her sleep, mumbling.

Regis looked up sharply. The last time she had Dreamed of him, she had learned things he would have preferred she never knew. And yet that was the price she paid for her sight.

"I'm here, Reina." He reached for her hand, uncertain how much comfort she would glean from that while Dreaming. "Right beside you, my dear."

It was no use. She Dreamed on without response.

"No, Father… You don't have to… Don't be so _stupid_ , Father!"

He wasn't certain if he should miss the days when she would never have spoken to him in such a tone. It only seemed to amuse Crea—though primarily behind closed doors. But whatever this Dream was, he detested experiencing it second hand.

"Wake up, Reina." He tugged at her magic. "Come back to me, my dear."

Her magic responded to his. At first she pulled back, as if trying to remain in her Dream despite his call. But when he grew more insistent she reluctantly released her hold on the future and sprang back to her body. She passed by the usual disoriented confusion and leapt directly to an upright position, which very nearly smashed her forehead against his. If not for his own quick thinking, they both would have woken the following morning with matching bruises.

She took a sudden gasping breath, as if surfacing from a deep dive beneath the surface of time. And she looked at him through wide eyes.

"I did it," she said.

"Did what?"

"I saw what I wanted—I saw—I saw—" Some semblance of the current time came back to her. She glanced around the room, then back to him, where her eyes truly focused. She swallowed hard, as if gathering up her resolution.

"I saw what would happen if I took the Burgundy Man's offer and ended the war for you."


	45. Offer

_I saw what would happen if I took the Burgundy Man's offer and ended the war for you._

Her words rattled around his brain several times over, and yet he refused to comprehend what he had heard. She had been looking for a way to negotiate with Ramuh, surely. That was what she had been searching for the whole time. She had no reason to know about Ardyn's offer to end the war, let alone to Dream about the outcome.

Save that Hamon had suggested there was an offer and Regis had left her unguarded in the In Between. What was to stop Ardyn from approaching her directly? What was to stop her from growing curious and asking Hamon herself?

"Reina…" He said slowly. "What have you done?"

She swallowed hard again. This time he could see the building fear in her eyes and he knew the answer before she gave it to him.

"I went to the Burgundy Man. And I asked him about what Master Hamon had said."

Regis shut his eyes and bowed his head.

No.

Not this.

Anything but this.

"We only spoke, Father. I was very careful. Crowe warned me not to agree to anything and not to take any actions without first spending the time to think critically and gain another perspective and—"

"Crowe?" Regis looked up. "Crowe knew of this?"

"Yes, Father. She gave me advice and listened to everything he told me. And in the end I decided I should try to Dream what would happen."

Crowe—a full grown adult, in the employ of the crown, hired to keep the princess safe at all costs—had known that Reina meant to walk into the In Between and speak with the most dangerous man on Eos and had done nothing to stop it? Had told him nothing?

"This is inexcusable," Regis said.

"Don't you want to know what would happen?" Reina asked.

Regis rose from his chair. "No. And you are forbidden from speaking to that man again. As if I should have to forbid you when I have already made it clear I want him kept away from you. No more Dreams. I thought we had agreed you were searching for a way to negotiate with Ramuh."

"And _I_ thought we agreed my magic is my own," Reina said, voice rising. "Have you changed your mind about that? I thought you didn't want _anyone_ to control me. Doesn't that include you? But now you would forbid me from Dreaming anything but what _you_ want me to see. You're as bad as the council!"

He stood, stunned, in her doorway. Her words held a haunting hint of the truth. Was he not doing what he had sworn to protect her from others doing? If what she wanted to learn was the possible future that resulted from accepting Ardyn's offer then…

Then that was a dangerous path to walk. Where did he draw the line between freedom and protection? Where did he draw the line on trust? And what was he to do when both she and her Kingsglaive bodyguard sidestepped his authority to make their own?

He could not think. It was poor form to make decisions while angry and at the moment the only thing that leapt to mind was to bind her to the physical realm and prevent her from Dreaming by force, if necessary.

"We will discuss this later. When I've had time to think." Regis turned to leave.

"I Dreamed the war was over!" She shouted after him. Regis halted once more. "The Wall came down and I've never seen you so full of health and youth, Father. You—" Her voice choked but she pushed herself onward. "You knocked Cor on his butt and handed him his own sword. His face was as red as wine."

He stood, half-committed, in the doorway with one hand on the jamb and his head bowed. That she would taunt him and herself with these things…

"And then, at the same time on a different path, I Dreamed the war continued. The Wall stayed up and year by year it sucked your life from you like a fat vampire bat crouching over the city. In four years time I'll walk you to your rooms because you can hardly walk on your own."

"Stop it." Regis' voice came out more choked and less commanding than he would have liked. He squeezed his eyes shut as if this would block out reality.

"But you don't _have to_ , Father!"

"I do."

It was already decided. He had already made the choice and if his retinue could not sway him, he could not allow Reina to either.

"This is for your own good, Reina. Now go back to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

He turned to leave for a third time. Still she shouted after him.

"Father!" And he could not walk away while emotion shook her voice. Less, still, when he looked back and found tears streaming down her cheeks. "You said you love me more than Lucis. More than Eos. More than anything. More than your own life." She shook her head. "You had the choice to save them all but you chose to protect me."

"I did. And if you understand that this choice was made to protect you, then you must understand why it cannot be undone."

She shook her head again. "And what about how much I love you?"

Regis sighed. They had discussed this before.

"Reina… it is my place to protect you. Not the other way around."

"If you don't do something now, it's going to be my job to take care of you very soon," she said.

Four years, she had said. Four years before he leaned on her shoulder like a decrepit old man simply to reach his own quarters. Moreover, he knew it to be true deep down. For all he told Clarus that the Wall had only made him stronger, strain did little good when he was never allowed to set aside his burden.

"That is a truth we must all come to terms with," Regis said. "However much we may hate it, it is inevitable."

"But it isn't! Don't you see, Father? All I have to do is tell Ardyn I accept his offer—"

"You would not dare."

"And everything will turn out fine. Because I've Dreamed it."

"Reina, you cannot—"

"I understand. You can't make that choice because you love me too much. So I hope you understand that, because I love you just as much, I can't _not_ make this choice."

"Reina—!"

He lunged for her bed, as if grabbing her physically would stop her from unhooking her ties to her body and dropping into the In Between. He caught her body as it fell among her pillows. She still held an anchor in her center and he scrambled to grasp her magic as her core slipped away.

"Don't do this to me, Reina." He wrapped his magic around her five times over and dragged her back toward the physical realm.

_Let me go, Father._ There was a calmness in her mindvoice that unnerved him.

_No. Come back to the physical realm, my dear. We will work something out._

_I have already worked everything out_.

She slithered out of his grasp like a wet fish and shot toward the In Between. He was left holding the barest tendrils of her magic. He grasped them as tightly as he dared, pulling as if to reel her back to her body.

"Reina! Come back!"

But she was gone.

He followed the strand, loosening his own hold on his physical body to reach the In Between. It took longer this way, trailing after the breadcrumbs she had left behind. But at length the shores of the Black River were visible to him. Just as they had been in his dream of her: a bright sunny day and grassy shores dotted with overgrown trees, which surrounded ominous black water. It was like stepping into a picture frame from blackness.

Reina stood on the shore, dressed not in her nighttime pajamas as she was in the physical world, but in a lavender dress. Ardyn stood over her, extending a hand.

"Ardyn! Your deals are with me. Leave my daughter alone!"

Ardyn straightened, though his hand remained outstretched toward Reina. "On the contrary, Nephew. I think this deal concerns your little Dreamer most of all."

"Reina." Regis locked his eyes on her, putting one foot in front of the other with the caution one used to approach a frightened animal. "Don't do this. Please. We shall find another way."

"I'm sorry, Father. I love you too much." She lifted her hand and took Ardyn's.

"No!" Regis lunged forward—if he could just reach her, if he could prevent her from diving into the river—and slammed face first into a barrier. A smooth, prismatic shield of Caelum magic.

Reina shifted this realm as easily as Ardyn did.

On the other side of the shield, she locked her eyes on him even as she turned toward the river. Regis slammed his magic against the barrier, heedless of the harm that might cause her, but he could feel not even a dent. Not even a fracture. And Reina did not respond, save to shut her eyes and turn her head away from him.

Ardyn and Reina stood on the banks of the river, hands clasped. Reina looked down at the water. Ardyn looked over his shoulder and gave Regis a wave.

"Toodles!" He grinned. Then leapt.

"Reina!" Regis shoved against the barrier for all he was worth. But it was far too late. The black water closed in over her head as she followed Ardyn into the River.

In the physical world, her body lay still in his arms, asleep to all appearances. He laid her down amongst her pillows and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Please, my dear… do not do this to your father…" His tears fell on her cheeks, mingling with her own half-dried ones. But she was motionless.

Distantly, he registered he was not alone in her rooms, but he could not tear his eyes from Reina's face.

"What's happening?" Noctis asked. "Dad?"

A thin thread of magic wound around her center and trailed into the In Between, where her core was lost somewhere in time. Regis wrapped his magic gingerly around it. The thrumming of life and magic within gave him comfort as thin as the thread itself. He sent a silent prayer to whatever divine spirit had not yet forsaken him and tugged at the strand.

"Reina… look at me, Reina."

He poured into their connection every ounce of the despair that was filling his soul.

"Just me…"

He poured into their connection the love he felt for her. A love so great that he would have willingly forsaken Eos to protect her. Would have willingly grown old and given his own life for her.

"Nothing else…"

He poured into their connection the fear and loss and emptiness he felt at her absence.

" _See me_."

But her eyes did not open.

Her lips did not move to mouth his name.

She made no effort to sit up and instead remained precisely as she had been all along.

"Is she lost?" Noctis asked.

"Lost…" Regis gathered her up in his arms and held her against his chest. Lost in the dark with a madman.

_...everything will turn out fine. Because I've Dreamed it._

The Dream she had spoken of contained only him in good health. She had made no mention of her own fate.


	46. What Dreams Hold

Untold hours passed.

At some point, Noctis and Crea had both climbed into Reina's bed with him and the three of them lay in a nest surrounding her.

Regis held onto her magic throughout.

He called her. He begged. He pleaded.

He had no notion of whether or not she could hear him. If she was aware of her father's despair, she gave no outward sign. She Dreamed. She Dreamed for longer than she ever had before, while Regis was helpless to do anything, save hold her and mourn.

If she was truly gone, how could he carry on? Already he had lost one love. Let him not lose a second. Let him not live through the death of a child, when all he had done to this point had been to prevent either of them from a premature end.

Almost worse than the thought of losing her was the uncertainty. Would he ever know, truly, if she was gone? Or would she languish in Dreams for the rest of her life until her body wasted away? Would they sustain this lifeless husk of his daughter's body, forcing food and nutrients into her system on the off chance that some day, some day she would come back to them?

She would waste away into a skeleton. Like Aulea had, before the end.

Not even Crea's touch and the warmth of her hand covering his could chase away the dark daemons that now haunted his mind.

Beneath their clasped hands, Reina's chest rose and fell steadily, as if a deep and peaceful sleep held her. A few times, subtle expressions flitted across her face. Pain? Distress? He couldn't place them. All he knew was they did not wake her.

He laid his head down next to her. And she spoke.

"Ardyn!"

Regis jerked half upright. Beside him, Noctis and Crea did much the same.

"We have to go!" She cried, as if calling out over a great din. "This isn't real. It's just a Dream! Come _on_."

She knew. She knew she was in a Dream.

He caught Crea's eye across Reina's sleeping form. She had no idea the significance of that fact. The Dreams she had witnessed from Reina were few and far between and she had no experience with magic.

Regis forced both his mind and his mouth to work against the haze of despair. "If she knows this is merely a Dream, then she is not lost."

Noctis sat fully upright. "She's coming back?"

"I don't know, my son."

He should not give them false hope. If Ardyn had the power to hold her in a Dream, then she would not be able to escape. And yet, she was not lost. He struggled not to latch onto this hope himself—it would only hurt worse in the long run—but after the show of power she had displayed tonight, he found himself wondering if she wouldn't be able to break free of Ardyn's hold on her.

"Wait," she said. "One more thing."

Again, Regis caught Crea's eye. One more thing. One more Dream?

They waited, this time hardly daring to breathe. How long would they wait before despair took full hold once more? If dawn came with Reina still locked in Dreams, he would be no more capable of leaving her side than he had been of leaving Noctis' after the marilith attack. The world would have to turn without him to push it.

Or else it would stop. He cared little, unless Reina woke.

Ten minutes passed.

All at once, Reina jerked upright, taking a gasping breath of air as her wide round eyes swept the room. They glanced over Regis, Crea, and Noctis, hardly seeing them, and fixed on the shadows near her desk instead.

"Oh, Uncle…" she said. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

Regis seized her face between his hands and turned her to look at him. Her eyes focused on his, though tears fell intermittent down her face.

" _Reina_."

"Father." She managed a watery smile. "I know what you need to tell Ramuh."

He could not have cared less about the storm at that moment. The Astrals could drown all of Lucis. Niflheim could send their soulless army to tear Insomnia up from the roots. None of it mattered, so long as he had his daughter back.

"Oh, Reina. My Reina. My little girl." He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her against his chest.

After a moment of stunned silence, Noctis threw himself against them, hugging Reina from behind, and Crea wrapped her arms around all three of them. They remained that way until Reina began to squirm.

"I can't breathe in here," she complained.

Noctis and Crea let go—reluctantly. Regis loosened his hold only to take her face in his hands once more.

"Never do that to me again. I thought I'd lost you."

"Oh, Father…" She clambered up to her knees and threw her arms around his neck. "I told you once I would always protect you with my Dreams. All parts of you."

"What happened, Rei?" Noctis asked.

"I ended the war." She yawned and sat down on Regis' lap, leaning against his chest.

While Noctis and Crea gaped at her, Regis found the wherewithal to ask what he feared to know.

"And what did Ardyn wish for in return?"

"To live the past." She looked up at him, then aside. "It was rather personal and I don't feel I should talk about it. But he used my magic like—like I was a vessel and he was steering—and we went back two thousand years so he could remember a time when he was happy only… only he got lost in the Dream and when we reached the part that was unhappy, he couldn't get out again. I had to pull him free and back into the Black River."

Whatever he had expected, it was not that. To relive the past? She was capable of such a thing? Could she, thus, take him back to a time when—

But no. To relive a past he had already set aside was folly. It would do much more harm than good for the both of them. In any case, to learn that what Ardyn wanted in exchange for ending the war was a jaunt into happier times made him seem so much more human. And so much less daemon.

When she had first woken she had been overcome with sympathy. What had she been forced to experience as Ardyn was swept up in his own memories? Regis knew, perhaps, a part of the tale, but only second hand. He dared not think what it would be like to stand by as an observer while one brother betrayed the other. Or worse yet.

"Then I asked him to steer when I wanted to go," she continued, "To see how to bargain with the Fulgarian. And I saw Father again. And you were _magnificent,_ Father—you were _flying_ , with the Armiger all about you. And you were speaking to the Fulgarian. I didn't hear everything that was said but he was… remorseful, I suppose is the word. Or regretful. Or both. And Father said 'All this death and destruction can be undone. You know it to be true. All you need do is let go the ties that bind you to Eos and your part in the tale will be through.'"

And despite all that, she had kept in mind what she had promised to Dream for Regis.

He should have been furious with her. The number of direct orders from him she had disobeyed in a single night was unconscionable. And yet, he could feel nothing but relief that she was here and whole once more. So intense was his relief that he could not even begin to feel grateful or amazed that she had learned in one night what they had struggled for months to learn. How to end the storm and bargain with the Fulgarian.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair. "You have been a great many places and seen a great many things this night, little princess. It is high time you had your rest."

"Are you mad at me, Father?" She asked.

"Furious," he lied.

She managed a watery smile. "I love you. Even when you're upset with me."

"And I love you. Even when I am mad at you."


	47. Awakening

A voice niggled at the back of Regis' mind, insisting he should contact Clarus immediately. Now that Reina had Dreamed, they had preparations to make so the storm could be ended, with any luck, once and for all.

Preparations that he could do in a little while. After he had rested his eyes for a few moments. It was already past three in the morning.

They lay sprawled across Reina's bed—all four of them—staring blearily across at each other until their eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. They woke in a similar state, save that some semblance of daylight now streamed in through the windows.

He was not the first to wake. Nor the last. Though Reina lay curled up in his arms, still fast asleep, Crea and Noctis lay across from them, locked in a silent battle of silly faces. They took turns making the most outrageous face they could contrive while the other clapped their hands over their own mouth to prevent themselves from laughing.

Regis watched this play out for several minutes before Crea noticed he was awake. A smile, pure and simple took the place of whatever face she had been about to make at Noctis. Noctis turned to look at him. He puffed up his chest like he was going to shout something, but Crea clapped both her hands over his mouth.

"Your sister is still asleep," she whispered. "Let's go make noise somewhere else. Come on. Very quietly now."

She ushered him out of bed and waved him ahead, promising to follow after. Regis had one arm trapped beneath Reina. Though he knew he needed to rise and make ready for great changes in Lucis, once he had looked down and laid eyes on her once more, he found he had no desire to.

Crea was smiling at him, her face so full of love and adoration she seemed to exude it. She leaned forward to give him a kiss and whispered in his ear, "I'll see that breakfast is prepared and have tea sent up."

Regis' eyes glanced toward Reina's desk clock over Crea's shoulder. It was nearly ten. When had he last slept so late? He had no notion.

"You may have to hold off the hounds as well. Doubtless Clarus is searching for me by now."

"I'll throw them a bone."

And with that she slipped out of bed and after Noctis, shutting the door behind her and leaving Regis and Reina in peaceful silence.

He pried gently with his senses—just to be certain—and found that her core was firmly centered in her physical body. She was here. He could wake her, if he wished.

Once the thought had crossed his mind, he found that he _did_ wish to. The fears of last night swept up and threatened to overcome him once more—Reina, lost in the In Between, her physical form wasting away even as they tried to sustain it in vain hope that someday she would return—but he shoved them away. She was right here. He could feel her magic wound tightly and settled in the physical.

Still.

He smoothed her hair back from her face and grazed his fingers over her cheek.

"Reina, my dear… wake up, little princess."

She stirred, tensing in his arms with a small sound of objection.

Regis kissed her forehead, holding her like a porcelain doll. "I know, my dearest. But you must wake up."

She lifted one hand to rub at her eyes before blinking up at him. "What is it, Father?"

He had only thin reasons to wake her. The truth—that he had wished to see her eyes once more open and alert to ensure himself that they could be—would never do.

"The day has well and truly begun and breakfast is on its way," he said instead. "I fear it is time for all of us to be on our feet."

That was true enough, at least. Even if he might have let her sleep under other circumstances. Even so, she seemed to take his words only at face value. She rolled onto her back and glanced around the room. "Noctis?"

"Has gone with Crea. He woke some time ago."

Someone tapped at the door—the hesitant sound of someone who feared to wake the occupants but held important news nonetheless.

Regis pushed himself into an upright position. Reina clambered after him, crawling into his lap like she used to do when she was small and uncertain. Her fear of his disapproval had hidden away the teen and brought out the child. It was a development he could appreciate, at least temporarily.

"Enter," he called.

As the door opened, he realized he was in his shirtsleeves with his hair a mess. No matter. The face at the door was Crea's.

"Oh!—You're both awake! Good. Clarus says he has urgent news from Niflheim, which he insists you'll want to hear immediately," she said.

Of course he did. No rest for the king.

"The war is over," Reina said, in a voice more befitting a five year old than a twelve year old.

In all the excitement, he had nearly forgotten the true reason for Reina's terrifying dive into the unknown. Could it truly be so simple?

Simple. As if last night had been simple for any of them.

"I will come."

He gave Reina another hug and pulled away from her—which was rather more complex than it sounded. When he did manage to extract himself from her grasp, she followed behind him like a lost puppy.

What was he to do with that? He couldn't very well close the door in her face or tell her to run along and play with her brother. That she wanted to be with him was clear enough. And though it had been some four years ago when he had asked Crea's advice for what to do with his shell-shocked children, her words still held true: if she needed to be with him, then let her be with him.

He turned and scooped her up in his arms, Chika the Chocobo and all. She gave a yelp of surprise and clung to his vest for a moment, before snuggling up beneath his chin.

It wasn't until then that he realized how far they had come in four years. He sometimes complained about the early emergence of teenage-Reina, but now that the child had returned, he had cause to reflect at how wonderful it was to see her growing into a person of her own. A person who still loved him but recognized him not as an infallible god on high, but as a man whom she sometimes disagreed with and loved all the same. She had opinions of her own—strong ones—and the strength of will to express them. She had likes and hobbies and friends that had nothing to do with him.

He had told Crea he wanted them to grow into whole young adults, capable of taking on the world. And they were.

They were.

That woman was a miracle incarnate.

As these thoughts flitted across his mind, he gave Reina an extra squeeze and a kiss on the head. She was much too big to be carried around these days, but he did so anyway.

They found Clarus waiting in Regis' rooms, already seated in the lounge and helping himself to a cup of tea from Regis' tea tray. He gave Regis and Reina a curious look as they entered, but made no comment when Regis sat down with Reina in his lap.

"Pour me one of those, will you?" He asked and Clarus complied, passing a cup of piping hot tea across to him before resuming his own seat.

The first sip of tea in the morning was like falling asleep, but in reverse. If waking up could be as pleasant as a hot cup of tea every day, he would do so eagerly each morning.

"You have news?" He prompted Clarus, who seemed to be debating whether or not the news was fit for a twelve-year-old's ears.

Whether it was or not was immaterial at the moment. She was here and they were not debating that fact. In any case, she was tucked up beneath his chin and he doubted that she was listening to much, save his heartbeat.

Eventually, Clarus seemed to come to this conclusion on his own. "Urgent intelligence arrived from Niflheim early this morning: it seems that one of their Magitek research facilities has been overrun with daemons during the night."

"Overrun? You mean they attacked it?"

"No. We suspect they were inside to begin with."

Ah. The daemon research facility then. And the dogs had broken loose and bitten off the hands that prodded them.

"The capitol is taking measures to keep things quiet, but they've turned their Magitek soldiers on their own research facility. Our eyes in the area report sightings of enormous Magitek machines breaking free of the snow-bound facility to combat the incoming soldiers."

"Their Magitek has gone rogue?" Regis asked.

"At a glance, yes," Clarus said. "I can only assume this has something to do with their daemonic nature."

If Niflheim's Magitek creations were all daemonic at their core—as it was known at least some of them were—then perhaps they answered the same call the daemons did. And what call would the daemons answer, that might send them reeling against their masters? A call that had begun last night.

"What time did this occur, approximately?" Regis asked.

"Close to three in the morning."

Not long after Reina had woken from her Dream. Ergo, not long after Ardyn had returned from Dreams as well.

"The war is over, Father," said a small voice from beneath his chin.

Both of them looked to Reina, who stared up at Regis.

"You can lower the Wall now." She offered him a tentative smile, as if afraid to bring up anything that might remind him how badly she had disobeyed him.

It made no difference. He was still too relieved that she was alive and not lost in Dreams to care that it had been her own defiance that had dragged them all through that harrowing night. He smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead. Something would have to be done about her, nevertheless, but it would be decided quietly between him and Crea without any terrified fury involved.

"I sense you have news of your own," Clarus said, looking between the pair of them.

"I suppose we do, though I struggle still to make sense of it," Regis said.

In short order he laid the story before Clarus, attempting to arrange the pieces as neatly as possible from a disjointed perspective. He trimmed unnecessary pieces of the story, merely hinting that they had spent several sleepless hours wondering if she would ever return. Perhaps he would have been more forthright if Reina had not been sitting on his lap, listening throughout. But she was. And she had seen enough despair for one night.

When the tale was through and they had all sat in silence for a minute or two, Clarus cleared his throat. "I can see you've both had a harrowing night. And it may be best if we leave things as they are for the day. But we should make a decision. If this truly spells the end of the war, the sooner the Wall is lowered the better for you, Regis."

Regis sighed. "And yet we cannot simply do so without pomp and circumstance. The Wall has stood over Insomnia for one hundred fifty years. To simply lower it will cause panic in the city—and without, doubtless."

Clarus winced. "An announcement of lowering the Wall, then, will need to be an announcement of the end of the war."

Which, while good news, was still complicated news. As of yet, the war was _not_ officially over. They simply had the assurance of the imperial chancellor—and a twelve-year-old Seer—that hostilities toward Lucis were at an end.

"And the Fulgarian?" Clarus asked. "How do you mean to approach him?"

Regis shook his head. Reina had given him a hint as to what words could be used to leverage the Fulgarian's guilt—though still he wished to discuss them with Sylva—but how precisely to approach him, he had no notion.

"That is a question we shall have to address to the Oracle," Regis said.

"In Her Highness' Dream, you were in flight with the Armiger. Is that a feat you are currently capable of?" Clarus asked.

His insinuation, though not made outright, was clear enough: though Regis had summoned the Armiger on multiple occasions during the past few years, he had not called on the full might of his ancestors while the Wall rested on his shoulders. Was he capable of such a show of power, when he was so worn-down?

"I will do what is necessary to end this storm," Regis said.


	48. The Heart of the Storm

The storm raged. Not merely overhead, but all around. What umbrellas had made their way up to the Citadel rooftop had promptly been lost in the winds. They swept around him now, whipping his cape to one side and threatening to tear the crown from his head. The others fared no better: his retinue were soaked and standing with feet braced against the wind, while a few representative members of the council warily huddled as far from the edge as possible, even as the storm fought to throw them nearer.

Clarus was more bold. He stood at the lip of the rooftop, looking down into the Citadel square and the crowded streets beyond. "I little like this audience."

The tens of thousands of people gathered below were little more than a sea of umbrellas. How they hoped to see anything at all over their heads was anyone's guess. But they would hear even less, if the roaring of the winds and the crackling of thunder was even half as loud on the ground.

"Y'know…" Cid ventured. "Most people'd call you mad for standing on the roof in a thunderstorm."

"I note you're standing with us," Weskham said.

"I can play senile with them best of 'em, boy."

Cor gave a derisive snort. " _Play_ , he says."

"Let's not fight, children," Clarus said. "This is a serious situation. Lady Oracle, are you prepared?"

Sylva fixed a wide-eyed gaze on Clarus, but gave a single, tremulous nod. The blood of the Oracle held the power and knowledge to call forth the Astrals. That did not mean many of them had ever put this into practice. Not for many generations.

At least they knew Ramuh was already present, if unseen.

Sylva stepped forward as Clarus fell back into line at Regis' right hand side. For a time she seemed to stand motionless, as if frozen by fear in the face of the power she meant to wield. And yet there was a stirring in the air. Over the din of the storm, he became aware of another sound, building in power: a steady voice singing a wordless tune.

Sylva's voice wrapped around them, cutting through thunderous roars until it seemed the storm quieted around her. Her magic rose up and swept through like a restless wind, pulling every which way until at last it grasped hold of something.

The thunderous pounding sensation in the back of Regis' mind that had faded into the background noise of his life during the past months now swelled. He fought against the reflex to grasp his throbbing head as thunder rolled and cracked inside his very mind. He grit his teeth to keep from crying out—which did nothing to lessen the pain.

He could show no weakness. Not even a hint of it. If he meant to face down an Astral and come out ahead, he would need every ounce of his strength in full display.

Lightning streaked across the sky, mercifully failing to strike either the rooftop on which they stood or the ground below, which held the ever-growing crowds of onlookers. And when their eyes cleared after the blinding flash, a face hung in the clouds.

Though he had seen Ramuh's likeness depicted in stone and on canvas, it was nothing to standing before the Fulgarian in person. Had he indeed been standing, Ramuh would have towered above them. Instead he hung in the sky, largely human in appearance and yet, despite his ancient visage and receding hairline, he exuded power. Regis was struck by the sudden and inexplicable urge to kneel.

He nearly did so. Indeed, he had taken a step and begun to lower to one knee before his mind caught up with the compulsion.

Ramuh. The Fulgarian. For all that he was a colossus of power, and a figure of worship across Eos, he was Lucis' enemy. The cause of the endless storm. One bond among six that tied the darkness to the physical world.

Regis transformed the motion into a forward step. All around him, the others had fallen to the strength of Ramuh's will and knelt, disoriented, in the puddle of a roof. They were not to be blamed. The Fulgarian was the only one deserving of his ire.

"Brothers," he called over the storm and one by one they tore their eyes from Ramuh and fixed their gaze on Regis. "Lucis does not kneel before tyrants."

He reached for the strength of kings and found it waiting. The Armiger leaped to his call, but more than that: as he drew strength from the Wall, leaving a facade rather than a barrier, it granted him wings. Weightless, he lifted off the rooftop and hung in the air over the others while six spectral glaives turned slow circles around him.

Weskham bowed his head. "Your Majesty. We kneel before you alone."

"Then rise before me," Regis said. "And stand beside me."

As the others clambered to their feet, Regis turned. Sylva stood at the edge of the roof before Ramuh; to her credit she had remained standing despite the Fulgarian's silent demand. The slightest thought propelled Regis forward. From up close he could detect the faint tremble that ran through Sylva's entire body.

"Oh Fulgarian," she called over the storm and, despite the shaking of her body, her voice was remarkably clear. "I, Sylva Nox Fleuret, blood of the Oracle, call you forth to treat with the Father King. I beg of you: hear his words and consider."

The Fulgarian's pale yellow eyes drifted over the few assembled on the rooftop, as if with disdain for those who dared to stand before him. When his gaze settled on Regis, Regis felt a piercing scrutinization shoot through both body and mind.

" _Thou beseecheth me: hear the words of the defiant king who taketh fate in his own hands. No cause for this have I."_ His voice was the rumbling of thunder; the words were not in any tongue known to Regis and yet the meaning was clear in his mind. For all that he stood in defiance against them, the Astrals had untold powers indeed.

But this was no time to question his path.

Regis drew himself up, lifting ever higher in the air until the rooftop with his companions had faded to a small square, well beneath his feet, and he hovered directly before the Fulgarian's face.

"Then allow me to give you cause: My bloodline has been made to oppose the Starscourge and banish the darkness—this you must admit, for the Astrals had a hand in shaping what Caelums have come. And so I now stand in opposition of the heart of the darkness and the root of all evil on Eos. I stand in opposition to the Astrals."

The Fulgarian's pale eyes were upon him. An unnerving gaze: either the irises were such a pale yellow or the whites were jaundiced such that hardly any distinction remained between the two. It gave the impression of being stared at out of tiny black pin pricks in a pale yellow field.

"Do you deny this?"

" _Where hast thou heard these tales?"_

Avoiding the question? Two could play at this game. Regis pulled more power into the Armiger until blue flames danced across his skin and burst around him.

"DO YOU DENY THIS?" He roared over the howling wind and pounding thunder. "Do you deny that the Six stand as the foundation upon which all death and suffering and darkness spread? Do you deny that you willfully made the choice to allow all of humanity for all of history to suffer due to the missteps of but a few?"

For the first time since Sylva had spoken, the Fulgarian's gaze drifted away from him. He seemed to diminish in size and appeared, in Regis' mind at least, to grow more wizened and ancient. A dark shadow passed over his face.

" _Not willfully, no,"_ he said, and where once there had been booming tones now sounded the distant crackling of faint and spindly lightning. " _For we never intended that the dark should grow so vast and so powerful. To punish, yes… but not to doom."_

"Yet doomed us you have," Regis said. "Over a hundred generations of my bloodline have passed in furious contest against this—and all due to a grievous error on your part. The suffering has been nigh endless. And it will continue. Even now you contribute to it: you claim you visit justice upon a defiant king, but in truth you only perpetuate the darkness, creating a bleak and soggy mire for the disease to spread and thrive. If it is just deserts you seek, you might turn your eyes inward before you settle your indignation upon Lucis."

Even the wind seemed to quiet in the face of Regis' accusations. What once had been a budding tornado lost conviction and whipped half-heartedly at his clothes.

" _Thou turnest thy accusations improperly. Mine kin can do nothing to stop what hast already begun. But thine can. If thou wishest to banish the dark: stand with us rather than against us."_

"Do you lie to me merely to convince me to step back in line and do as I have been bidden? Or does your denial truly run so deeply that you have convinced yourself your words are true?" Regis asked. "All this death and destruction can be undone. You know it to be true. All you need do is let go the ties that bind you to Eos and your part in the tale will be through."

The winds diminished further. All around, an unnatural silence stretched. His clothes hung still and motionless about him. The dark sky was unlit by lightning. Even the ubiquitous patter of rain had ceased.

Remuh squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. " _Thou asketh me to end my existence to banish the dark."_

"I ask no more than what has been demanded of my own family. The difference is this, Fulgarian: I ask you to die for a mistake _you_ made."

" _Even should I agree, the Starscourge will not be banished."_

"No. But one tie that binds it to Eos will be severed. And your willingness to accept responsibility for your wrongs will inspire your kin to do the same."

" _Yes…"_ He said after a time " _More willing to follow in my wake, they shall be."_

His eyes opened suddenly, sharply, and some decision settled on his face. " _Speak first with Leviathan. Pass onto her these words: 'Let the storm and sea rest forevermore beyond the reaches of churning darkness.' And the Hydraean will lay down her head in rest. For Titan I have scant advice. Thou must face down the tenacity of stone with thy own and prove thou shalt not break. The Glacian stands already in thy midst, but she will await the final rest of the Infernian before she bows to thee. As for the last…"_ Here he paused and shook his enormous head. " _Thou shalt never convince the Draconian to go quietly into the night."_

Regis was too taken aback by the outpouring of advice and support to immediately compose a response.

"Thank you," he managed, though it seemed woefully insufficient.

" _Though I step forth into oblivion, let justice be rained down upon one final misdooer. Perpetuators of darkness. Farewell, Father King. Save the light."_

And with those final words he was gone, like the vanishing of morning mist in the sunshine. All around, beams of light broke through thinning clouds and for the first time in five months, clear skies shone overhead while the orange light of a setting sun washed over wet Lucis.


	49. Fireworks

The Citadel rooftop was still directly below him. This turned out to be for the best, given how low he found his mana reserves to be, once the adrenaline began to fade. He lowered, hardly daring to look down at the thousands of upturned faces on the city streets, and touched down atop the Citadel.

His knees buckled.

Clarus was at his side, hauling him upright and in a moment he was flanked by both Clarus and Weskham, as if between the two of them they could hide from view the quivering of his legs.

Damn this magic! Would he ever be free of the weakness that came from once-simple exertions? Or was that time of his life well and truly past, despite Reina's best efforts to end the war and free him from the Wall?

No. He refused to believe that. He was not so old after all. Merely tired. He had, after all, not had the most restful sleep recently.

He locked his muscles in place and drew more of his strength from the Wall, pulling it back like a petulant child coveting his favored toy from a jealous relative, until the Wall itself was nothing but a facade. An image of a barrier, which a tap from a Magitek soldier would have brought crumbling down. No matter. The war was over. The threat to Insomnia was gone. And all this strength belonged once more to him, whether he could truly release the accursed barrier or not, for political reasons. He would have this much strength, at least. The strength needed to stand on his own and walk tall without aid or assistance.

He pulled his arms free from both Weskham and Clarus, as discreetly as he was able, given that members of the council were now pushing their way past his retinue to ogle him. For a moment they all stood in speechless awe before, one by one, they dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Even his retinue joined, as if they had momentarily forgotten that he was just an aging father who, more than anything, wanted what was best for his children.

In the absence of the storm, the silence seemed deafening. But a sound began to rise up from beneath them. Like the pattering of rain, growing steadily louder with the swelling of a storm. His retinue lifted their heads first, then the councilors, as they glanced about the otherwise empty rooftop, searching for the source of the sound.

"Your Majesty…" Sylva stood at the edge, nearly forgotten in the midst of the excitement.

He stepped out from between Clarus and Weskham, coming instead to stand beside Sylva. He followed her eyes down. The streets surrounding the Citadel and beyond were still packed with people. The umbrellas had disappeared, revealing tens of thousands of faces staring up.

It was the sound of applause. Of cheering. Of thousands of voices raised and rejoicing. And a growing chant rose up from his people.

" _Regis! Regis! Regis! Regis!"_

For a moment he could do nothing, save stare. But a lifetime of royal training took over and he lifted his hand to wave. The cries grew to crescendo.

"History has been made today," Sylva said.

"They could not have heard a word of what passed between us," said Regis.

"No. But they know what they witnessed: their king and sovereign, facing down the God of the Storm himself, and splitting open the black clouds that have plagued Lucis for months."

And then landing on the rooftop and nearly falling on his face. No. It was best that the veil remained firmly in place for them.

He was suddenly aware that he was standing in a puddle and dripping wet. He offered up one final wave to the crowds before turning and heading for the ladder.

"Weskham," he said, "Let some official statement be made to the press. I am going to have a bath and a change of clothes."

For once, his desires were as easily said as done. Avunculus was only too happy to provide both, though the latter lay hanging, half forgotten, on the suit stand beside his bath when he fell into bed directly. He had ended the storm. Let the others deal with the aftermath. Whatever that entailed.

He woke to explosions.

He struggled upright through a black haze of sleep, grasping for consciousness. The Wall. The Wall was weakened. If Niflheim struck it with so much as a grain of rice—

A hand clutched his shoulder. Lights burst outside his darkened bedroom windows: an explosion of color painted across the clear night sky in violets and blues, lighting Crea from behind.

By the light of the fireworks, he could just make out the smile on her face. "They're celebrating."

Regis let out a slow breath, willing his heart to settle to a normal pounding, and dropped back onto his pillow.

"Celebrating," he repeated.

"The end of the storm. You've been all over the news all evening. I'm sure by morning the picture of you standing atop the Citadel with the sun setting directly behind you will be all over the kingdom."

Regis groaned. "Was it that bad?"

She laughed. "You looked glorious. I can't wait to see what the headlines will say about you: 'King Regis Calms Angry God,' 'King Regis: Divine'—"

"That's quite enough, thank you."

She laughed again and he could not help but smile. She looked divine herself, sitting beside his bed in her courtly gown, lit by the occasional burst of color from fireworks outside.

"I'm so proud of you. Even from behind the veil, that was extraordinary," Crea said.

"You know full well it is Reina we must thank." He glanced around, half expecting to see his children in attendance. They were, of course, not present. The grandfather clock indicated it was midnight. "How are they?"

"Well enough. Reina was reluctant to see you go and spent several hours this afternoon sitting anxiously in the lounge while Noctis tried to distract her. Later we watched as much as we were able from the windows and the rest on the television. It was impossible to hear what you said, of course, but Reina quoted half the conversation as if she had some superhuman sense of hearing. It took hours to convince them to both lay down, after the excitement of the day. I doubt they're truly asleep if you wish to see them."

Had it really been last night when he had been convinced Reina might be forever lost to him? Had she, only this morning, clung to him like she was once more eight years old and insecure in her father's love?

And all because she had disobeyed a direct order from him and, in so doing, saved Lucis. Saved him.

He could not put these things off indefinitely. But let them be put off for a little longer, at least.

"I hardly know what to do with her," Regis said. "Is she greatly troubled still?"

"She's recovering well enough, though she's worried you'll be angry with her once the relief wears off. I think in time the stubborn streak will resurface and you'll find yourself with a self-righteous almost-thirteen-year-old on your hands once more."

"I'm not sure which I prefer," Regis said. "She disobeyed me several times over last night. And yet, in so doing, the result has been positive."

"That seems to be a trend with her." The smile on Crea's face could only have been pride.

Regis sighed. "Yes. And it is a trend I worry about. That she has defied me to make wise choices thus far does not make her immune to poor ones. What happens when she makes a grave miscalculation?"

"Then she makes a grave miscalculation and she'll have to learn to live with it."

Regis pursed his lips.

"I know you don't like that answer much, but they're of an age when they will want—and need—to make their own choices. Good or bad, you'll have to let them make those choices. That Reina has the self-confidence to step out from behind your authority and make a decision for herself is—whatever else it may initially seem—a wonderful thing. I can tell you now because there is no longer any danger, but once I feared she would forever lack that self confidence. That she would forever be looking to others for guidance."

When she put it like that, it seemed less dire and more natural. Nevertheless. "I would prefer that she made choices on a smaller scale. One that does not threaten so many lives."

"If she were any other child, perhaps she would. But not only is she the daughter of a king and the twin of the heir to the throne, but she also possesses magic that, by its very nature, seems to thrust her into the most tumultuous matters."

Regis groaned. She was right. She was right and he hated it. If only his children could have lived normal lives, removed from all this. For all that he had tried, they were flung into the midst of it in the end. It seemed inevitable. Unavoidable.

"Then what am I to do?" He asked. "Advise me, my queen."

She shot him a teasing glare at the title. "I thought queens didn't have to deal with child-rearing."

"This one certainly does," Regis said. "I will trust no other with the task."

Her glare turned to a sweet smile. "I'm glad to hear it."

She crossed one arm over her stomach and tapped her finger against her lips. Somehow, despite her courtly gown, this simple motion transformer her back into a nanny before his very eyes.

"She expects something and so you should do something. To let it pass, I think, is a bad idea. As you have said, she did disobey you and, at twelve years, the end does not always justify the means. On the other hand, it must be a punishment she perceives as fitting to the misdeed, or else—once her inner teen wakes back up—we'll have more trouble on our hands."

Regis nodded along with this reasoning. "There also remains the issue of Crowe, who knew of Reina's deeds and plans, and disclosed nothing."

"Another double-edged blade," Crea said. "As she showed that she has placed her loyalty with Reina, rather than with you. A not altogether poor place for it to be."

"Arguably," Regis said.

Crea gave him a lopsided grin. "What would it have done to your relationship with Weskham if, instead of meeting you at the door with a towel and a fresh change of clothes had told your father that you'd climbed down the outside of the Citadel tower in the rain?"

Regis stared. "How do you learn these things?"

"I talk to your friends," she said. "Well? What would it have done?"

"Nothing favorable."

"The bond she has with Crowe is more important than Crowe's loyalty to the crown. Maybe Crowe understands that."

"Perhaps," Regis conceded. "And yet, if she intends to advise the princess, I should prefer she had more specialized education with which to do so."

"Well, there you have it, then. Their punishment—if it can be called that—is additional tutoring on subjects that, perhaps, both of them should be familiar with in any case," Crea said.

"Diplomacy?" Regis asked.

"You'd be more familiar with all than me. Diplomacy, negotiation, subterfuge—I don't know. But Crowe would make an excellent spy."

An interesting suggestion.

Regis leaned back against his pillows. "You may have hit on something, there. By what Reina has said, she danced a subtle dance with the chancellor, and all this at Crowe's guidance. If they insist upon darting around behind my back in this fashion, let them at least have the tools to do so properly. And perhaps we shall put them to use in time."

"I'm afraid I won't be much use finding a tutor for that. You're better off discussing with Clarus."

A tutor to teach them of the subtle side of communications. Of all the little bits and bobs that went on underneath the surface, unnoticed by all but the keen-minded few. There was only one person who fit the description well.

He groaned aloud at the mere thought. "Am I permitted to place a guard on my daughter's tutor?"

"Crowe's going to be there anyway," Crea said. "Why? Who are you thinking?"

"One mischievous Master Hamon Carina."


	50. An Uneventful Birthday

And so it was that yet another set of lessons were heaped upon Reina's schedule, this time with Crowe as her sole classmate. Regis had expected more pushback from Hamon in response to the order that he was to become a tutor for a twelve-year-old and her bodyguard. Instead Regis' instructions were met, initially, with puzzlement and then with something like resignation. Doubtless he would cook up some new scheme to turn Reina's magic to his own advantage. Given how she had last handled him, Regis was now willing to trust that this would only serve as a further test of all the skills she was meant to be learning. Who better to learn caution from than a viper?

Reina took the news rather less gracefully. As Crea had predicted, once she was convinced that Regis had no intention to disown her due to poor behavior, she reverted—albeit not all at once—to a preteen princess. One who had no particular respect for Hamon and plenty to hold against him.

"He thinks I'm a child," she complained to Regis.

He resisted the urge to tell her she was. Somehow, he doubted it would win him many points.

"He's going to come up with some reason why I should Dream for him and expect that I'll just fall into line."

"All the more reason not to," Regis said. "This is an excellent opportunity to show him the strong-willed young princess you wish to be treated as."

And that, she discovered, was that. No further amount of complaints would change his mind on the matter.

Crowe had nothing to say. Whether she believed as Reina did—that they _had_ done wrong and _did_ deserve this punishment—he could not say for certain. He could only trust that she would do best by Reina. As she had done thus far.

Not long after the breaking of the storm in Lucis, the news from Niflheim took on a different light. Amidst their trouble with the daemons in their Magitek research facilities, black storm clouds swelled over Gralea and beyond. And justice rained down. Whereas in Lucis Ramuh's goal had been the acute and prolonged suffering of Regis' people, he seemed now bent on destruction. Numerous reports of fires started via lightning strike came through from their reconnaissance team. Entire blocks of buildings were burned to the ground when the rain seemed almost to lift in places and encourage the fire's spread. They did not seem random strikes. Ramuh targeted power plants, research facilities, and military outposts.

And through it all, the Wall remained but an image of the thing, draining only a fraction of Regis' returning strength and protecting nothing, save his people's minds.

A bright and shining winter came to Lucis. Though the departure of the storm brought freezing temperatures and weather that froze sodden ground solid—mere mud encased in ice—the people rejoiced.

Winter, as a rule, brought merriment to the Citadel. Nominally it was the King's Ball—a celebration of the birth and life of the monarch. In practice, Regis found it simpler to think of as the Winter Ball. Birthdays were not a day for celebration, once one passed a certain age. They were a day for avoidance and denial.

It was unfortunate that Crea had developed a taste for court and, with it, a perfect willingness to participate in these matters. If she had been a recluse alongside him, they might have begged the ball off. Instead she banded against him and planned the damn thing.

"It's just one night! And you'll have fun, I promise," she said to him.

"Pray, do not make promises you cannot keep, my love."

She merely grinned and waggled her fingers at him before disappearing again.

And yet, he could not honestly say he preferred the young a retiring nanny who had hardly known what to do if someone over the age of eighteen so much as glanced her direction. Between the realization that courtiers were essentially overgrown children and the lessons in etiquette she still took alongside Reina and Noctis, she had grown into a full blown blueblood herself. She had carved her own place and sat at his side, as he had always dreamed she could. He could never regret that.

Despite the preparation for immediate celebration, the return of the sun meant they could no longer put off decisions that had been supposedly delayed by inclement weather. Though the fireworks at the end of the storm had persisted for several nights past the first, and though they would soon have their royal family paraded out amidst the pomp and ceremony of the Winter Ball, the people clamored for both betrothal and marriage.

Regis was of two minds on the subject. On the one hand, the sooner he and Crea were wed, the better. On the other hand, only one Astrals had been swayed, two more remained on his list as well as a cryptic suggestion that, somehow, a fourth was already aligned with him, and a fifth was in need of some form of deliverance. All that was to say nothing about his precarious position, strung between Bahamut and Ardyn. A part of him wished to put things off until all this was settled.

And yet, if he was forever putting off marriage until his life was less chaotic, he would never be married at all. This Aulea had discovered, some fifteen years ago, and this she had neatly sidestepped by disregarding his hemming and hawing and simply planning the wedding on her own.

Crea did much the same.

"We'll have Reina's betrothal ceremony this winter, after the Ball—" She had accepted his terminology associated with the event and no longer attempted to attach any birthday references to it. "—The preparations for that are all but complete. As for the wedding, there is still a little more to do. So I'll set the date in late spring so as not to overshadow the twins' birthday, but still give time for final preparations, and give us the best chance at fair weather. I know how you detest rain."

"All of Lucis detests rain," Regis said. But he had no objections to make with regard to her choices of dates and times.

Reina would, doubtless, be ecstatic to be a properly betrothed princess, though he dared not think what it would do to her rapidly inflating sense of self-importance. Just a few days before, he had overheard her telling Noctis that she was more suited to be the heir to the throne than he was, all things considered. Noctis had disagreed only on principle—Regis was learning rapidly that one tended not to agree with one's sister, even when one's sister was correct. In this case, it was neither here nor there. Perhaps she would grow into a suitable ruler. And doubtless Noctis would as well. More than once in the past year, Regis had found himself wondering if he hadn't made the wrong choice—and if it mightn't still be reversed. For the moment, it was one more consideration to clutter up his plate. Perhaps when they were older and willing to consider each other's strengths and weaknesses without sibling rivalries in the way, a definitive decision could be made. Until then, it was mere ammunition in the intermittent feud between brother and sister.

And so, after much debate, a day was set for the betrothal ceremony: a mere week after the Winter Ball. As predicted, this news was met by rejoicing from Reina, exasperated complaint from Noctis, and prompted further celebration within Insomnia. As if they had not been celebrating nonstop for weeks now.

At length, the day of the Winter Ball arrived, despite Regis' best efforts to prevent it by ignoring its existence. He had been made to be fitted for a new suit for the occasion, though it seemed to make little difference. At the distance most people would behold him from, it was impossible to tell whether a pair of trousers were pinstriped or pure black and surely the usual dusty violet of his vest was suited just as well to daily court as to a formal ball. But no. He was fitted now with a vest of striking burgundy and a black cravat.

He complained on all accounts as Weskham pressed his appearance into perfect order.

""Crea chose them, you know," Weskham said.

"The fact that I love her does not mean she is never fanciful. It merely means that I tolerate it."

Weskham smiled and combed his hair flat before fitting his crown in place. "Your queen awaits, Sire."

He left his quarters and stepped out into the hall where he found that, indeed, Crea was waiting for him in the royal lounge.

And all at once it made sense why he was wearing burgundy.

She unfolded from her armchair and the burgundy gown shifted into place: a perfectly-fitted dress of silk crepe that she might well have been sewn into. Her lips matched it perfectly in shade. Her hair was pinned up in the vaguest approximation of her usual messy bun, though this style dipped gracefully and suggested intent and aristocracy rather than a desire simply to have the mess out of her face. Taken separately, all the pieces of her appearance would have been at home on any of the ladies in court. Together, they boasted that she was not a courtier at all, but a nanny who had somehow stumbled into this land of gold of wine glasses and made herself at home.

Regis found himself momentarily stunned by the sight, unable to even formulate a reaction. A buzzing took the place of coherent thought in his mind.

Crea's voice broke through the static. "I believe you're allowed to compliment me, now that we're engaged."

He had been staring at her. Though he couldn't have said for how long. For all that, she only looked amused at him.

"You look magnificent," he managed. "Despite all, you somehow manage to take my breath away time and again."

She flushed, though the effect was muted beneath her makeup.

Weskham nudged him. "I believe this is the part where you offer the lady your arm."

Regis turned to glare at him. "Well and truly gone are the days when I require your prompting in the ways of etiquette. But if there comes a day when you stand before a breathtaking woman and are struck by the sudden realization that she has—for some incomprehensible reason—agreed to marry you, I shall be certain to point out how remiss you have been as well." Regis offered his arm to Crea and she took it without pause.

"I fear you will never get the opportunity, Sire," Weskham said.

"Because proper etiquette has been so well drilled into you that you no longer stumble, even at the greatest of hurdles?"

"If only," Weskham said. "No, I only meant to imply that my loyalty belongs first to you and it would be a strange partner indeed who accepts those priorities."

"Tell that to Fidelia," Crea said.

"Tolerates, I believe, is a better word for what Fidelia does with Clarus," Regis said. Still, it was a fair—if unfortunate—observation. A monarch's retinue was stripped of much, and all before they had a chance to choose at all.

As was the royal family. Perhaps it was retribution, of a sort. They were miserably, lonely, unhappy humans and therefore they made others miserable, lonely, and unhappy.

Well. Perhaps not in quite such a depressing fashion as that.

"Where have Noctis and Reina gone?" Regis asked.

"Noctis? Dodging Ignis' comb and avoiding his suit for all he's worth," Crea said. "Reina? I believe she's been locked in her dressing room with an army of servants for the better part of five hours."

"Wherever she inherited that from, it was not me," Regis said. Though Noctis had more in common with his father than it might appear at first glance.

"We might as well go on ahead," Crea said. "They'll be announced when they arrive… whenever that happens."

Whenever their retinues managed to drag them through the door, likely. Every retinue was required to contain at least one person who had more sense than the royal they surrounded.

Now that he thought of it, he wasn't sure which of Reina's friends that was.

They left the royal levels, trusting Ignis to collect and deliver the prince in good time and assuming that, if nothing else, Reina would show up in time to display all the hard work that had gone into her appearance—otherwise, what was the point?

Clarus was awaiting them on the main floor, along with Cor, Cid, and a contingent of Crownsguards. Gods forbid the king arrive at the ball without half an army in attendance. It was a matter of form over function, as the halls were largely deserted. Nearer the throne room, however, they began to hear the hum of conversation indicating a large and growing crowd in the main halls of the Citadel. Rather than push their way through the main entrance, they took private halls and made their way around to the monarch's entrance.

There was no such thing as a discreet entrance as a king. It might distantly have been called quiet, given that the crowds within the throne room quieted as a clear voice announced:

"His Royal Majesty, King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, and Creare Vinculum."

If any had been seated at the tables, which dotted the usually empty floors of his audience chamber, they certainly were not when the doors swung open to admit them. A wave swept through the crowd as the assembled guests bowed.

"Save this moment," Regis muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Crea. "It may be the last time you are announced without a title."

She gave him a peculiar little smile, which he could not interpret the meaning of, and lifted her hand to wave in a practiced motion. Where had she learned that?

The same place Reina had, likely.

They climbed the stairs to his throne together. He resisted the urge to kiss her, here on a dias in front of a hundred courtiers, and seated himself properly instead. It should have been satisfying enough that he was now permitted to be seen with her. But it wasn't.

Only a few more months.

The long wait began. As was custom, it was his place to be seated and be seen while the crowd in the throne room filled out. One by one and two by two, each courtier was introduced and announced to the already assembled crowd. Just one more reason to detest these events. This time, at least, Crea stood beside his throne. And from so far up with the constant murmur of conversation on the floor, no one could hear them exchange discreet words.

"Shall we place bets on how long it takes Ignis to wrangle Noctis and bring him down?" Crea asked.

"He's had all day," Regis said.

"Yes, but I doubt he'll have convinced Noctis to even think about putting on a suit until about ten minutes ago."

"A fair point. Over unders on thirty minutes?" Regis suggested.

"I'll give Ignis the benefit of the doubt. Under," she said.

"I trust Noctis' stubbornness will out against Ignis' efficacy."

"And Reina?" Crea asked.

"Am I permitted to place my bet that she will take another full five hours before the mirror and only show up when the first guests are beginning to leave?"

Crea hid her laughter behind her hand. "And miss dinner? She would never. I bet under one hour but later than Noctis."

Regis motioned to Clarus, who climbed the steps as rapidly as dignity allowed.

"What is the time?" Regis asked when he was near enough.

He glanced at his watch. "Three past five."

"Thank you. Pray, notify us again once my children have arrived."

Clarus gave them both a peculiar look, which Crea responded to with a mischievous grin and Regis disregarded entirely. But he consented and withdrew to a respectable distance.

Crea kept his mind occupied with light conversation while they waited. Inconsequential topics, which nevertheless made the dull minutes seated atop his throne watching the unending stream of guests enter his audience chamber more bearable. At last came the first of two announcements they had been waiting for.

"His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum."

Those already seated across the audience chamber rose to their feet and a similar bow swept through the room. Noctis entered through the main doors, looking remarkably dignified, and shortly followed by:

"The Royal Retainer, Hand of the Prince, Ignis Scientia."

And

"The Prince's Shield, Gladiolus Amicitia."

And finally, ushered in by the attendants and looking more than a little out of place—

"Prompto Argentum."

—A chubby boy in an ill-fitted suit who, despite all, clutched a camera in his hands like a sort of barrier between himself and the rest of the world. Regis would have known him by description, even without the name attached. He came to stand before the throne with the others, bowing belatedly and awkwardly, but Regis gave him a smile and a nod.

"My son, you look well dignified. Though perhaps I should address my compliments to Ignis instead," Regis said. He caught Clarus' eye, and Clarus passed the boys on the steps to lean close to the throne.

"Half past," he said.

Regis groaned. Crea let out a hissing cheer.

"Indeed, he has been so efficient that he has lost me a bet. Noctis, I expected better of you. The son of the most stubborn man in the kingdom and you could not have delayed for a mere five minutes more?"

Noctis glanced between Regis, Crea, and Ignis. He folded his arms over his chest. "Eh. You probably deserved to lose."

Regis sighed. "I am doomed to parent teenagers before they even reach thirteen. Let us hope that your sister is less punctual."

"Oh, don't worry," Noctis said. "She'll be another two hours in coming. Ignis wanted to check in and make sure she was on her way down. She screamed something and threw a hairbrush at the door."

"Very princess-like, I'm certain," Regis said. If he had learned anything in the last year, it was that he could believe nothing one twin said about the other anymore.

"Can we go? There's a great big hors d'oeuvres table over there with my name on it." Noctis asked.

"By all means, my son," Regis said, "Ensure that the kitchen staff works for their pay."

As if they needed Noctis' help with that. But the presence of the prince and his retinue at the ball would triple their workload, as it was a well known fact that four teenage boys could eat more than four hundred courtiers put together. Even if two of them were still only twelve.

Noctis and the others bowed again before turning and making their way back down the stairs and to the hors d'oeuvres.

"I do hope the staff has been warned that my son and his friends are in attendance," Regis murmured.

"Oh, they know." Crea motioned toward the table, where a full half dozen servants were keeping hawkish watch over the contents of each silver platter. More than one of them watched Noctis' approach.

"Damn." Regis sighed. "I refuse to accept that you won that."

"Fair and square." Crea grinned.

"By three minutes only."

"Let's be reasonable, it was at least five. It takes time to walk from the door to the throne."

He shot her a withering glare, which transformed into a smile all but immediately. How could he be anything but pleased to have her standing beside him.

They passed the next twenty minutes in a similar fashion: the admittances to the chamber were beginning to wind down, the servants had opened the doors to the adjacent dining hall and were escorting guests to their respective places, and still Reina had not arrived.

Once more, Regis motioned to Clarus who provided, this time without being prompted, "Five past six."

Regis permitted himself a smug smile. "And I have already won."

"Hm. She really does need an Ignis, doesn't she?"

"It might improve her punctuality." Unfortunately, Avun was fresh out of nephews and, as far as Regis was aware, he had never had a niece in the first place. Here, then, was hoping that Iris grew into a more socially-conscious and punctual young woman than Reina was turning out to be.

From across the hall, a voice announced: "Her Royal Highness, Princess Reina Lucis Caelum."

All eyes turned. Some guests were halfway across to the dining hall, but stopped to crane at the late arrival. And there in the entryway stood Reina.

Reina?

Surely it was Reina. The attendant had said so.

And yet, what he perceived first was not his daughter at all, but a ghost of the past, resurrected for but one night.

That dress, made for her on his birthday some fifteen years ago. The way she wore her hair plaited in a crown and adorned with silver thread and glittering diamonds. The shade of her lips—dark enough not to upset the blue of her dress but bright enough to betray her youth. Surely that was Aulea.

Regis was on his feet, though he had no recollection of having risen. She caught his eye across the room and held it as she approached. Distantly, he was aware of others following after—of the attendant calling a few more names—but he could hear nothing. He could see nothing, save the enigmatic little smile on her face. Even as she climbed the steps and stood before him, he was still half convinced that he was seeing Aulea.

"Hello, Father," she said.

And the spell broke. He was able to blink again, to take a full breath. The tunnel of his vision cleared and he could see her now, standing on the dais below his throne, flanked by Crowe, Iris, and Cindy. And the differences seemed as stark as the similarities: the coronet that nestled gracefully in her hair was a princess' coronet, not a queen-consort's. She was smaller than Aulea—a fact that was only emphasized by the height of Crowe and Cindy on either side of her. And, despite all the effort she had put into appearing otherwise, she was only twelve. Scarcely more than a child.

When he continued to stare at her, she ran her hands self-consciously over her dress. Aulea's dress. "Do you like it? I had it refitted so that I could wear it. I thought you might like to see it again…"

"My dear, you look stunning," he managed. "And you look so like your mother that I am at a loss for words."

He descended the steps toward her. It was off-script from their evening, but he cared little for that. He needed to hug her—to grasp her shoulders and be certain that she was truly his daughter and not some apparition. When he was near enough to do so, he was struck by a wave of memories so intense they froze him in his tracks once more.

"That scent…"

"There was an unopened bottle of perfume in the box with everything else," Reina said.

Aulea's perfume. And all the memories trapped within.

He could do little but stand there, hands clasped on her shoulders, as uncontrolled sensations and emotions tore through his mind. All at once he was not standing in the throne room. He was in the Citadel gardens on a summer day. He was driving in the Regalia with the top down. He was at the opera.

"Apologies, my dear. Please join the others in the dining hall. I require a moment."

True to his wishes, she did withdraw. Though she did so reluctantly, curtseying alongside her retinue and pulling away only to cast him a handful of over-shoulder glances as she made her way toward the dining hall. Regis stood frozen, staring after her. He remained that way until Clarus' hand on his shoulder startled him out of his reverie.

"The resemblance is striking," Clarus said.

"Haunting," Regis said.

They had always said she would grow up to look just like her mother. It was only now he realized how much of a curse that could be.

"I can ask her to change out of the dress," Crea suggested half-heartedly from his other side.

"No," Regis said. "I would not do that to her."

Not after she had spent so much time and effort perfecting her appearance. Not after she had stood before him, shining bright like a star and smiling fit to burst. She was so pleased just to show him that dress. And perhaps, without context, he might have been as pleased to see it on her as he should have been. But…

"You may, however, suggest that if she wishes to wear Aulea's perfume, she does so where I cannot catch scent of it."

"I will," Crea said. "Later."

"And please be gentle. I do not wish to upset her with this." Any more than he already had.

"No," Crea agreed. "No more than she wanted to upset you."

By that time, all the courtiers had been seated in the dining hall and the attendants waited solely on the king and his retinue. Reina had disappeared from sight. But she would be seated beside him throughout dinner. Or near enough that facing her would be unavoidable.

Well. He would simply have to bear it. It would not be so daunting, now that he knew what to expect. But the mere experience of being caught off guard by his late wife's dress and perfume in the span of two minutes had been too much. He steeled himself and offered Crea his arm.

As they descended the steps, the remainder of his retinue fell into step behind them. Though Regis led Crea by the arm, he distinctly felt her take his mind in hand and guide it to less destructive thoughts:

"I know you were distracted upon Reina's entrance, but I suppose we've come out even on bets."

It took a moment to steer his thoughts around in line with hers. Noctis had arrived earlier than he had guessed but Reina had arrived in line with his expectations. Though when the time in question had passed, he had permitted himself a brief but smug celebration.

"Indeed," he managed.

"And yet, we did not put a price on said bets. So I find myself at a loss as to what 'even' means: Are we both to pay dues to the other, or does debt cancel credit and therefore no payments are made?"

"That would depend entirely on the manner of payment you had in mind," Regis said.

"Precisely."

Clarus cleared his throat. "May I remind you two that we are in polite company."

"Why, Clarus!" Crea looked over her shoulder at him, as if scandalized. "Whatever are you insinuating?"

Clarus gave him a long suffering look, which pulled an unwilling smile from Regis.

They joined the guests in the dining hall: all down the enormous table, people stood, awaiting the king's arrival. Two chairs stood empty on his side of the table and several on the opposite: to the right of Regis' chair stood Noctis with Reina beside. As he had expected—or at least hoped—Reina's appearance was less jarring the second time around. Beyond them were their retinues in full attendance. To the left of Crea's chair were a handful of courtiers that Regis could not name at the moment. He gave each of them a nod of recognition nevertheless as he and Crea took their places at the table.

All things considered, the dinner was an enjoyable enough affair. He was seated comfortably amongst the people he cared to hold conversation with—namely, his family and friends. Those people Crea had chosen to sit nearest her, he discovered, were a few courtiers she had made friends with in the past months. They seemed pleasant enough people.

Every now and again he caught scent of Reina's perfume and tumbled through disoriented memories until the air shifted and all sensation of being in another time and place vanished. Nevertheless, he made a point of fixing his attention on her and assuring her more than once over the course of the meal that she looked absolutely lovely. Not that she had any shortage of compliments, with both Prince Ravus and Ignis sitting nearby.

"I sense trouble brewing in your seating arrangement," Regis noted, leaning close to Crea and dropping his voice.

She sighed. "Yes, I know. It's very difficult to keep everyone's politics in mind when they belong, more or less, to the same circle."

He offered her a smile, despite the frustration on her features. "Did you truly arrange every seat at this table?"

"Most of them," she said. "I distinctly recall birthday dinners spent in misery because someone had thought seating your retinue away from you was a wise choice. I thought to take that in hand. And once I had started it was difficult to stop, except it's a little like one of those logic puzzles—you know the sort: Johnny can't sit next to Mary and Joanne absolutely must be seated diagonally from the Duchess Selene but not on the same side of the table as Mary—except there's no actual solution and you're bound to seat two people together who dislike each other and it's just a matter of choosing the least important people to upset."

Arguably, upsetting the Prince of Tenebrae and the Hand of the Prince was not the best option. Given that he had little notion precisely what the development of seating arrangements entailed, he decided to keep that opinion to himself.

Nevertheless, he kept one eye on their side of the table as dinner progressed. By the time desert had been served, they had done little save shoot withering glares at each other. Or, more accurately, Ignis had shot withering glares in Ravus' direction, while Ravus pointedly ignored them. He seemed to take little notice of Ignis' displeasure, save at one instance, just as a slice of cake was being set before him, when he met Ignis' gaze levelly and fixed him with a miniscule smile that could only be described as smug. Ignis' hand clenched on his dessert fork and he made a motion as if to rise from his seat, but stopped himself.

Regis glanced over his shoulder and caught Avunculus' eye. Avun hurried forward.

"Keep an eye on your nephew tonight," Regis whispered when he was near enough. "I sense he struggles to maintain his place."

Avun gave him a quizzical look but merely bowed and withdrew. He had sharp eyes and keen senses. He would likely note if anything was amiss before Regis did.

As for Ravus… Regis was reluctant to enlist Sylva's help in policing her son. Doubtless she could do so efficiently, as she had done for nearly twenty years. After having declared that Ravus was as good as his own son, however, he was reluctant to hand the boy over to his tyrannical mother. Besides, Crea had seated Sylva well along the table. It was unconventional seating for someone of such a renowned position, but it did prevent them from having to tolerate her company. In any case, she was likely unaware of the brewing tension.

He reached for his wine glass and Crea's hand covered his. "I'll keep an eye on them."

He could only smile at that. Crea, charmer of children and courtiers. If anyone could handle the jealous feud of two teenage boys, it was her.

Dinner concluded without further incident. The walls were folded back to reveal the audience chamber once more, though by now it had been transformed into a ballroom, complete with an orchestra in the council gallery.

As the last to be seated, Regis was also the first to leave the table, though his retinue and family formed a parade at his heels as he made his way into the throne room once more. Traditionally, the dance floor was opened by Regis, save on those occasions when he was feeling too stubborn or too prickly to comply with the evening's plans. And, on those years when he did dance, there had only ever been one young woman he offered his arm to.

Now he had two.

Which presented something of a problem.

Already there had been some stirring of hurt feelings when Reina perceived he had given what was hers to Crea. And though she had more young men to dance with this evening than she could possibly accommodate, something told him she would still place the utmost value on this dance in particular.

He had already hurt her enough, this evening—though quite unintentionally.

On the other hand, he was newly engaged to Crea. For the first time in thirteen years, he had a partner in attendance. One whom he would be expected to dance with.

He leaned closer to Crea as they walked. "I find myself in something of a tight situation, my love."

"Dance with Reina first," she said, her voice equally low. "To hell with what people say. I'll wait my turn."

He might have kissed her. In fact, why not? Perhaps they were standing in an ever- growing crowd of courtiers as the guests flooded in through the doors behind them. They were engaged, were they not?

He kissed her. The court would have enough to talk about in a few moments, anyway—with any luck they would forget the kiss within seconds.

He pulled away from Crea, leaving her with a foolish smile that he hoped, in retrospect, no cameras had captured, as he turned instead to his daughter.

Reina stood but a short distance away, escorted on Ignis' arm. How he had managed that contained a catoblepas of a story, but this was not the time to hear it. Nor, judging by the stormy look on Ravus' face, was it time to bring attention to it. Perhaps he should have diffused the situation by offering her his arm earlier, but he had been rather distracted by Crea. He could only attempt to remedy it now.

He held out his hand to Reina. Her face broke into a beautiful smile before he had even opened his mouth.

"Will you allow me this dance, my dear?"

She was smiling so broadly that all she could manage was a nod as she placed her tiny hand in his. Not so small as when she was five and they had danced only insofar as he had carried her about the dance floor in patterns vaguely resembling a waltz and mostly in time with the music.

He took her hand and led her to the floor. They passed by Crea, who was smiling the proud smile of a mother, but all other faces Regis glanced over held looks of shock.

"I thought you would dance with Miss Crea," Reina said, once they stood in the center.

"So did they." He allowed his eyes to sweep the assembled guests. Everyone, from the youngest courtier all the way up to Clarus, were looking wide-eyed between Regis and Crea. No time for them now. He had a lovely young princess to dance with.

They took their places. The orchestra quieted, then began a waltz. And they fell into step as they had done so many times before. She had gotten better at dancing. He had not.

"I'm sorry about the dress, Father. I only wished to remember her to you."

And now, perhaps, when it may have appeared to an outside observer that he was so near to forgetting her, was a prime time to do so. He had managed, for the most part, to see past the dress to the girl who wore it. Once the initial shock had faded, he could see the differences as starkly as the similarities. Reina looked her mother's daughter—a fact that none would argue—but she looked as much Reina as she did Aulea. More, if one knew where to look: the tilt of her head, the upturn of her chin, the stubborn line of her jaw. Where Aulea had been guile and mischief, Reina was pride and stubbornness. At least she had inherited her mother's good looks, if she was doomed to be stuck with her father's bad habits.

The scent of Aulea's perfume, however, was more deadly. And this near to her he struggled not to tumble head-first into long-forgotten memories.

"You have, my dear," Regis managed. "You look uncannily like her. I shall have to show you a photograph of her at your age, so you might appreciate the resemblance."

"You have photos of Mother?" Reina's eyes widened. "Besides the wedding picture?"

"Of course. On my bookshelf, behind her last needlepoint, is an entire album of them." Had she truly grown to nearly thirteen years of age, and never once he had pulled out that album for her and Noctis?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it to be the case. Opening that book was an instant recipe for disaster. It was difficult enough to look through without losing himself. To do so while his children were present would have been unbearable.

And yet, what must they have thought of him? A man who visited his wife in the mausoleum but once a year and stood there in the unheated stone halls while blizzards raged outside, throughout the entire day. A man who never spoke to them of their mother, but to tell them they would have a new one when they had never known the first. A man who hung no pictures of his late wife, save the framed photo of his wedding day sitting on his bookshelf. A man who locked away all of her remaining possessions and forgot about them for twelve years.

How could he explain what he hardly understood himself—that though he loved their mother very much and would never—could never—forget her, he had, at long last, come to terms with her absence in his life? That, despite the love he had for their mother, he had still fallen deeply in love with Crea because, as Weskham had said, that was a love of the past.

"Reina. Your mother is never far from my mind. And while I had once resolved you and Noctis should not grow up without hearing every tale of her, I have since discovered that sharing them myself is not a pleasant experience. I should like for you both to feel as if you had been near to her, for she would have wished you to know her and to remember her. But I fear I am not the one to facilitate that. If her dresses and her possessions allow _you_ to remember her, then wear them for yourself. And I shall loan you the photograph album, so that you and Noctis might see what I mean when I suggest you are the exact image of your mother at this age. More than that, however, I must decline."

She was silent for a time, and he could tell no more from her face than that she was pensive.

At length she said, "I don't understand."

"No," Regis agreed. No more had he expected her to. She was acquainted with death only as a distant concept. And while she was wise and observant beyond her years at times, this was one place her Dreams had not enlightened her. "And for that I am grateful."

"Why?" She asked.

"Someday, you will understand," he said. "But do not be too eager to learn. Some things are better left unknown."

Those words, at least, struck a chord with her. Her eyes glazed a moment and she stumbled a step in the dance. He caught her and adjusted his gait until she had regained her bearings.

"Yes," she agreed. "Some things are."

With that cryptic remark, the waltz came to a close. Rather than lower her in a dip, Regis swept her off her feet and spun her about. She was getting too big to be carrying about, but he was rewarded by the smile on her face.

"Thank you for dancing with me, Father," she said as he placed her back on her feet and a wave of applause broke out among the assembled guests and staff.

"This dance will always be yours, my dear," he said. And with one last smile, he offered his arm and guided her back to the others, where her retinue stood mingling with Noctis'. "And now, I return you to your eagerly awaiting audience."

She laughed at this, releasing his arm to rejoin the others.

"Enjoy yourselves," he said to her and Noctis, though he caught Ravus' eye through the bunch and lifted his eyebrow in warning. If Regis was to be as good as his father, he might as well behave like it.

Ravus looked away. Message received. It only remained to be seen whether or not it was heeded.

With his daughter delivered safely into the hands of her friends and admirers, he turned to look for Crea and found her nearly at his elbow.

"That was sweet," she said, "I'm sure the whole city will be talking about it for months."

"Until something more interesting comes along." Regis offered her his arm. "Might I have this dance?"

"This would probably be a good time to tell you that, up until a few months ago, I had never waltzed a single time. And that Noctis is not a very good dance partner." Nevertheless, she took his arm.

"Reina has said much the same thing. In any case, you needn't worry. Only every eye in the kingdom is upon us."

"Oh, thanks," she said dryly, "If it wasn't, I'd hit you."

"The public eye can be an excellent shield." Often more useful than Clarus. He would not, if Regis was any judge of his friend, have prevented Crea from hitting him.

"Oh, you'll get your comeuppance. Just watch," she said. "I'm sure I can contrive to _accidentally_ step on your toes in these heels."

Now that she mentioned, they did not appear to be the sort of shoe he would have chosen to have his feet stomped with. If any.

Though a few couples had made moves to join the dance floor, when Regis took Crea's arm all the courtiers dispersed until only one other couple stood on the floor with them: Reina and Ravus. An odd sight to be certain: Ravus towered over tiny Reina—though Regis doubtless looked no better with her—and near everything about them seemed in stark and opposite contrast. His hair so pale as to be white, while hers was so black it nearly matched the midnight blue of her dress. He wore the Nox Fleuret's traditional whites to her dark tones. His mismatched eyes to her solid blues. But they both took to the floor with the focus and grace of well-studied dancers.

"I fear we may be upstaged," Regis said.

"Then no one will notice me stepping on your feet."

Doubtless they didn't. Though this was largely due to the fact that, when stumbling and foot misplacement happened, it was all swept up in the music—as such things tend to be. There was a certain magic that occurred on the dance floor between two partners that have offered each other their fullest attention. Once the awkwardness of whose hands go where and which foot moves first has been conquered and the steady rhythm of the song has stripped away what thought it required for a base waltz, all that remains are two people paying intense attention to each other. Every motion of every muscle was calculated and interpreted, and once the mystery of individual language was overcome, then the magic took hold.

By the end, he couldn't have said whether Reina and Ravus had upstaged them or, indeed, what they had looked like at all. So focused had he been upon Crea that even the ubiquitous crowd had faded away.

As the song came to a conclusion, he did not lift Crea up and spin her around, as he had done to his smaller daughter. But he led her in a turn and, hands braced securely on her back, lowered her in a dip. And for a moment, in the silence following the song, time stopped. Only the two of them remained unfrozen, eyes locked. It was too neat an opportunity to pass up.

He kissed her.

The world came back into focus around them with the sound of applause. Reality returned, and they stood once more, the center of attention, in the middle of the dance floor.

He lifted her back to her feet, suppressing a groan. "I am too old for this."

"You're only forty two." She took his arm and allowed him to lead her off the dance floor as applause faded to conversation.

"I feel at least sixty."

"How would you know what sixty feels like?"

Across the dance floor, where Reina and Ravus stood arm-in-arm, Ignis approached.

"Trouble." Regis altered their course subtly, so as not to draw attention to the young couple—if indeed it could be avoided.

They reached Reina and Ravus shortly after Ignis did and in time to see him straighten from his bow and offer Reina his hand.

"Your Highness," he said, "Would you honor me with a dance?"

Crea squeezed his arm. He glanced down to find her giving him a significant look, the meaning clear enough: don't intervene unless necessary. The Hand of the Prince asking the Princess to dance was not a breach of etiquette—far from it—and she was free to dance with whom she chose.

She did.

"I would love to, Ignis." She took his hand, offering him a smile in return, and unthreaded her arm from Ravus'.

Ravus stiffened, making a motion as if to catch her hand. He stepped forward even as Reina and Ignis stepped away.

"Prince Ravus," Regis said. "A word?"

He could not well refuse. Though he gave Ignis one last scathing look as he led Reina to the dance floor, Ravus joined Regis and Crea. They walked together in silence, Ravus falling into step at Regis' opposite side, until they had climbed the steps toward the throne and escaped the near press of the crowds.

"I believe I have made it clear that you are to behave with the utmost dignity while in the public eye," Regis said. "And yet at the risk of repeating myself, I find myself inclined to grant you a reminder."

Ravus scowled, but turned his back to the crowds, facing Regis fully. "He is a jealous fool."

"As are you," Regis said evenly. "Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on your perspective—you are on your way to becoming betrothed to the princess, and therefore cannot afford to be caught in a scandal."

"He should not be permitted to dance with her," Ravus maintained.

"Permitted? Ravus, my daughter is _permitted_ to dance with whomever she chooses, regardless of promises or betrothals. She is not a possession to be clutched tightly and locked away."

Ravus looked away, shamefaced. "No, Your Majesty. I understand."

"Then you also understand that it would be in poor taste if the Prince of Tenebrae was engaged in a fight—physical or otherwise—at the King's Ball."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good. Now run along. And behave yourself, Ravus."

He took the dismissal with as much dignity as he could muster and descended to the floor while Regis and Crea climbed the last of the steps to the throne.

"Well, I'm certain we will have no more trouble from them. After all, when has a talk from a parent not dissuaded teenage boys from doing what they will?" Regis said dryly.

Crea grinned. "Of course. I'm sure they'll all be well-behaved now."

For a time, it almost seemed that way. Reina indulged Ignis in his dance, Ravus offered his arm to Cindy, and the night went on with a rotating roster on the dance floor. Reina seemed engaged more often than not—she dance with both Ravus and Ignis multiple times, but others as well, as if she knew full well what Regis had just told Ravus and meant to flaunt it: she _could_ dance with whomever she wished, and she belonged to none of them. Ignis, for the most part, danced only with Reina, but Ravus chose other partners whenever Reina was otherwise occupied. Two could play at the game.

"Oh, to be young and in love again," Regis said.

"Instead you're old and jaded?" Crea asked.

He glanced her over, a smile settling on his lips. "No. Old and in love."

But whatever silent war waged between the three below, they were thankfully spared the spectacle of a fight breaking out on the dance floor. All things considered, the evening came to a remarkably sedate close. And as the guests began to trickle away in ones and twos and the crowd in the throne room began to thin, Regis was forced to admit:

"It was not quite as bad as I had anticipated."

Crea gave him a flat, unamused look. "I suppose that's the best I can expect from you. Clarus, will you come stand in front of Regis so I can hit him with no one seeing?"

"I fear I have not enough width to me yet," Clarus said. "Though encroaching middle age promises to change that."

"Oh, come on. You're handling it much better than Regis," she said.

"He does complain rather loudly," Clarus agreed.

"I am sitting right here."

"And yet, I notice he has merely gained distinguished silver flecks in his hair and beard, while I…." Clarus ran his hand over his bald head and smiled ruefully at Crea.

"For how much he complains about the silver, you'd think he'd prefer to have none at all," Crea said.

"I really am _right here_."

"I'm sure that could be arranged. Weskham is most obliging."

Regis sighed and rose from his throne. "I can see it's no use. I may as well sneak away while this invisibility lasts."

Crea laughed and caught his arm as he began descending the steps. Clarus joined them and together they passed unimpeded through what remained of the guests and those of the serving staff who were beginning to file in for cleaning.

After the heat of the crowded throne room and the constant murmur of voices, the chilly and silent halls were a remarkable relief. They walked in companionable silence for a time, accompanied only by the sound of their own echoing footsteps, until the sound of voices from up ahead came drifting down the hall to meet them.

"...never have come to this, if not for the empire." That was Ignis, surely.

"On the contrary," said Ravus. "Niflheim has been entirely out of the picture for months now, and yet the betrothal remains on the calendar."

"Only because you forced His Majesty's hand."

Ravus laughed. "More likely because Princess Reina would prefer to marry a prince over a prince's messenger boy. Look at you. You're all skin and bones. I've seen you in Crownsguard practice, wielding a pair of daggers because your tiny arms are too scrawny to lift anything bigger."

They rounded the corner in time to see Ignis lunge for Ravus.

" _Ignis_." Regis halted him with a sharply placed word.

Ignis froze, hands balled in the front of Ravus' coat, a look of mortification crossing his face. He bowed hurriedly to hide it. Ravus turned, unflustered and unsurprised. Doubtless he had heard the footsteps and guessed at their source. Had he intentionally baited Ignis at precisely the right time to cause him to snap when Regis appeared? Or had it been mere happenstance?

"Your Majesty," Ravus said levelly. "I regret that you've had your evening disturbed. Ignis and I were merely having a discussion regarding my upcoming betrothal."

"So I gather," Regis said. He fixed Ravus with an unwavering gaze until Ravus grew uneasy and looked away. "Given that the ceremony is nearly upon us, I had hoped you would act in a fashion more befitting a prince. I can see I placed too much faith in your manners."

Ravus looked stricken. Ignis, still frozen with his head bowed, chanced a glance up and between them before dropping his eyes again.

"Return to your rooms, please, Prince Ravus. And if you cannot recall to mind the proper bearing of a prince, you would do well to remain there."

Annoyance flashed on Ravus' face before it was tucked securely away. He bowed stiffly and left.

When the sound of his footsteps had faded and Regis stood in silence, still staring at the back of Ignis' bowed head—and only then—did he permit himself to think of Ignis. Before he could decide what to say, Ignis spoke.

"I apologize, Your Majesty. My behavior was unbefitting one in the service of the crown."

"It was," Regis agreed. There was no reason to deny it. "If either one of you had walked away, the other would have had nowhere to grind his teeth."

Ignis said nothing. Nor did he move from his half-bowed position to look up at Regis.

Regis sighed. "I understand that it is not easy to walk away from an insult." Indeed, Regis was still prone to sulking when he felt Clarus had implied he was too weak or infirm. "And yet, level headedness is a skill you will be required to possess as Hand of the Prince. Do you understand, Ignis?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Be on your way, then."

Ignis straightened, glanced between Regis, Crea, and Clarus, and bowed hastily again. Then he turned on his heel and began to walk away. He stopped but a few steps down the hall, hesitating, before he turned back.

"Sire? Forgive me if this question is impertinent, but… does she truly love him?"

The trouble at the heart of it all. And a question Regis was ill-equipped to answer.

"Only, I had thought…" Ignis began again, but stopped himself mid-sentence. His face and ears flushed red.

So he had noticed. It had not been so long ago when Reina had searched for any excuse to sit next to him and had coveted the chance to dance with him at the ball.

"I fear that is a question I cannot answer," Regis said. "I can merely say that Princess Reina is young yet, though growing quickly. While she is eager to be betrothed to Prince Ravus, it is not always the case that people feel the same at thirteen as they do at sixteen or twenty."

"And yet she would be betrothed to him," Ignis said.

"Yes," Regis said. "She would be."

And some days he still questioned himself as to whether or not that was wise. In theory, betrothals were not so immutable or unbreakable as a marriage or even an engagement, but in practice they tended not to be broken. To allow his daughter to be betrothed before she was even thirteen simply because the prospect pleased her was sometimes against his better judgement.

Yet here they were, all the same.

"I see," Ignis said and, though Regis had told him nothing he had not already known, something solidified on his face like a bolt sliding into place. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

He bowed once more and this time when he turned to leave, he managed the thing properly. And Regis was left standing in the hall with Crea and Clarus.

"I have the lingering sensation of having made several terrible mistakes in short succession," Regis said.

Clarus slapped his back in what might have been a sympathetic fashion. Crea took his arm and smiled up at him.

"You handled them just fine," she said.


	51. Betrothal

In the days leading up to the betrothal ceremony, tensions in the Citadel were high. Had he claimed he stood apart from them, Regis would have been lying. The fact was that this ceremony was a leap toward adulthood and a definite future that he still wasn't committed to chaining Reina to. Crea did all she could to assure him that a betrothal was not the end of the world for his daughter.

Though no news of outright fights between Ignis and Ravus ever reached his ears, he was still aware of the persisting feud between them and the strain it placed on all things from Crownsguard training to family dinners. Cor admitted to adjusting the schedule so they did not both attend the same training and it became a simple fact that both boys could not be invited to dinner on the same night.

The only person who seemed obliviously unaware of the drama leading up to the event was Reina, who flitted from day to day as if she walked on clouds. Let her be oblivious. She spent far too much time with far too much knowledge. For her to have too little was a welcome reprieve.

Meanwhile, across the sea, the storm raged over Niflheim with a gradual swelling that Regis could feel all the way in Lucis. Though the skies were sunny and clear over Insomnia, if he pressed his palms to the cold glass of the Citadel windows he could almost feel the vibration of power in the air.

Crea looked curiously at him when he did this.

"He is preparing for the final push," Regis said without looking at her. "The Fulgarian gathers all power to him and rains hell upon Niflheim before his departure."

The swelling of power went on for a full day before it burst. The waves could be felt washing over Lucis—at least by those few present with the ability to sense them. The sensation stopped Regis mid-step.

"Regis? What is it?" Clarus stepped in front of him, as if he could shield him from this.

Yet it was Ravus who answered while Regis struggled to put his thoughts in order: "The Fulgarian. He is gone."

"No," Regis said. "Not gone."

Though he hadn't known the words to be true previously, he felt them now.

"The Fulgarian remains tied to Eos via a single thread. One He has tied to me," Regis said. "He has placed his life in my hands and his promise of loyalty at my back."

Even now, Regis could sense the faint and dormant power of the Fulgarian at his call. When they had spoken over the city, he had intended only to banish the Astral. Instead he had gained an ally more powerful than he had ever dreamed. One wiser than himself, perhaps, who had noted that if He truly left Eos, Regis would have been deprived of his gifts. That might have mattered little, had Regis expected to encounter only as much resistance as Ramuh had offered from every remaining Astral. Alas, such was not the case, for Bahamut still remained on Eos.

And the Draconian had far from forgotten Regis' transgressions.

On the night before Reina was due to be betrothed to Ravus, Bahamut summoned Regis to the In Between. Summoned, perhaps, was too gentle a word. He dragged Regis out from under the heavy blanket of sleep and into the empty In Between. Whereas the realm Reina shaped—the banks of the Black River—was almost comfortable and inviting save for the eerie black water, the place that Bahamut brought him to was unearthly to the extreme. No hint of the physical world existed here: though the blackness was tinged with swirls of color in blue and white, there was no sense of direction, no up nor down, no ground to place his feet upon. He floated, weightless and motionless, with no sense of autonomy. A fly caught in a trap.

Bahamut was before him—so great in stature that Regis' entire body was dwarfed by only the Draconian's face.

_Regis Lucis Caelum. Wilt thou persist upon thy perilous path, despite all the suffering done unto thy people?_

He spoke as if he had not noticed that Ramuh had turned against him and now stood at Regis' back. As if all had gone according to his plan. Yet even with the Fulgarian beside him, Regis could not hope to best the Draconian. He was well versed in these games.

"I will persist in my quest to end the darkness. And without sacrifice of my children."

_Thou hast weathered the storm,_ Bahamut said. _Thou shall not remain erect while the sea crashes over thy lands._

And with his ominous warning thus flung, he released Regis from the In Between, as one might drop a soiled rag into the bin, and Regis fell back into consciousness. He woke sharply in his bed, without the grogginess that usually accompanies waking, and reached for his phone.

" _Regis? What is it?"_ Clarus' voice answered after only two rings.

"The Hydraean," Regis said. "She is coming to Lucis."

It took some thirty minutes for Clarus to return to the Citadel, by which time Regis had assembled the rest of his retinue and called a few members of the council from their beds. Though Crea would doubtless be cross when she woke and found they had all been at work since the mid-night hours, Regis elected merely to leave word for her when she did wake. She would have enough to contend with once the sun rose, what with the betrothal ceremony on the horizon.

"Do we have any notion of when she will arrive?" Clarus asked.

"No. Nor are we likely to have any clue, unless Reina happens to Dream of this event tonight," Regis said.

"But you could ask her to look for it tomorrow night," Cor said.

"I could," Regis agreed. "But she Dreams poorly when distracted. In any case, I fear we will not even have so much time as that. That the Draconian gave me this warning bodes ill. I daresay he would not do so unless he felt it was already too late for us to prepare."

"Then what're we all out of bed for?" Cid asked.

"To make good use of what little time we do have," Regis said. "We must act under the assumption that the Hydraean may awaken at any moment. And furthermore, it would be best if we do not assume I shall be able to speak reason to her before she is able to act."

A hush followed his words as the reality of the situation sunk in. And once it had, the flurry came. For what remained of the night, they worked ceaselessly, calling more and more workers and officials from their beds as plans progressed and more aid was needed. By the time the sun rose, only a fraction of their plans were in place. But it was, at least, a fraction better than it had been the night before.

Crea arrived not long after full morning had come and Regis stepped aside to speak with her.

"What's going on?" She asked. "Avun only said you had left your rooms at three in the morning and hadn't returned."

In as short order as he was able, he explained to her the situation.

"I suppose it is out of the question to postpone the betrothal ceremony?" Regis asked.

"I'm afraid so. There are far too many people and preparations involved for it to be called off in time."

"And I suppose it is also out of the question to excuse my absence?"

"Quite."

Why he was wasting time asking questions he already knew the answer to was anyone's guess. But a part of him had been hoping that Crea would pull some miracle out of thin air. As she often did when he was up to his ears in trouble.

"I'll send Avun to make sure you're on time," she said as she turned away.

"And you?" Regis called after her.

She paused. "Someone ought to be with Reina, if you're intending to be absent until the ceremony."

Regis pursed his lips. Reina. Well. She would be well distracted while getting ready and it really was better if she had someone with her who knew about hair and dresses and makeup and all such things. She would hardly miss him.

Hopefully.

"Send her my apologies," Regis said. "And my promises that I will see her soon."

With that they parted ways, each to attend to their own duties. Perhaps the pre-betrothal preparations that Crea went to were quite as frantic as the preparations for the coming of another Astral, but doubtless the consequences for failure were less dire.

The hours sped by. Too soon, Avun was pulling him away and tugging a comb through his hair. He would, perhaps, not look his absolute best in time for the ceremony, but he would, at least, be in attendance. And dressed. That was the most anyone could ask of him today.

The betrothal was to occur atop the Citadel steps, where half of Insomnia could gather in the drive and stretch out beyond the gates and the other half could see the whole thing in high definition on television. Already the main Citadel grounds were overflowing with people—Regis could see them through every window he passed—and a whole series of cameras and microphones were set up across the stairs.

Inside the Citadel—crowded into the entry hall—everyone due to be involved in the ceremony was gathered. Plus some extras. The crowds split as Regis approached with Avun at his heels. By rights his whole retinue should have been in attendance, but he had left them to handle more pressing matters. Doubtless the press would note the absence of not only the king's retinue but also several key members of the council. Let them notice. Speculation on their absence would harm them less in the long run than their presence would.

"You're late," Crea said as he joined her in the main entryway. "If you weren't Reina's only surviving parent, we might have started without you."

If only.

"Where is she?" Regis asked.

Crea nodded toward the double doors, where a knot of young court women were gathered. He looked again and his eyes registered what his brain hadn't: Iris and Cindy dressed as proper Lucian belles, pressed close to a young woman who—though logic told him must be Reina, his mind refused to recognize as such.

Regis turned to Crea, keeping his features and tone carefully neutral. "She is only twelve."

"Arguably." Crea shrugged one shoulder. "Either way, she is maturing fast."

That much no one could argue against. She looked at least sixteen. Perhaps it was the dress or the way she had her hair pinned up or the precisely applied makeup she wore. Or perhaps it wasn't her appearance at all, but her bearing. Either way, it was difficult to believe this was the same child who had, but a few weeks before, forced him to carry her from her bed to his lounge because she could not stand to be parted from him.

Crea nudged him covertly. "Go on! She's waiting for you. Everyone is."

Regis took a few halting steps forward. The first were more difficult. But he found his feet were still attached to his legs and his legs—in some distant way—to his mind and he managed to put one in front of the other until he had crossed the foyer and reached his daughter.

"Apologies for making you wait, my dear."

She turned and looked up at him, releasing the hands of her friends as he spoke. In the smile that spread across her features, he could see his daughter—however much older she had become overnight, she was still his little princess.

But the smile faded too soon.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" She asked.

Oh but to have a child who was blissfully unaware. Sometimes he could not help but find Noctis' complete inability to notice when anything was out of the ordinary refreshing.

It was no use lying to her.

"I fear so," Regis said, keeping his voice low in the crowded space. "Yet Crea has convinced me that the ceremony must continue, nevertheless."

A dark figure stepped out of the shadows behind Reina. He hadn't noticed Crowe leaning against the arch before she moved, yet she must have been there all along.

"Is she in danger?" Crowe asked.

"No more than anyone else," Regis said.

Although, when the Fulgarian had awoken, she and Noctis had both sensed it.

"She may, however, experience some discomfort—a headache, perhaps—that is your sign that trouble is brewing."

Regis glanced around the room. Noctis stood with Gladio and Ignis—they would see that he was kept safe if the worst came to pass during the ceremony—and both Ravus and Lunafreya stood with Sylva. Now that he laid eyes on them, it occurred to him that all three were likely to experience much the same thing. Well. They would simply have to deal with such things on their own terms. Regis had no time to offer more warning than the significant look he shot to Sylva.

Perhaps he was being an alarmist. Perhaps the Hydraean would not come to Insomnia for days yet, or perhaps—worse yet—they had prepared entirely incorrectly and she would awaken elsewhere on Lucis' coast. But somehow Regis doubted that. In any case, it was better to be over prepared than under. Not that they were in any danger of the former. At the moment, he would have classified the preparation of Insomnia as woefully insufficient.

"Well," Regis said, calling his mind back to the tasks at hand. "Are you prepared?"

Despite the concern he had stirred in her, a broad smile broke out on Reina's face. She nodded.

"Then let us begin." He held his arm out to her and signalled the attendant at the door as she took it.

As the great double doors to the Citadel cracked open, a note went up outside. From the foyer, they could hear the rumble of the crowd quieting down. Regis led the way forward with Reina on his arm and all behind them others fell into place.

Given that there had not been such a ceremony in Insomnia for a few generations at least, and that none present had so much as observed one, let alone participated, it rolled along surprisingly smoothly. They began with the initial procession, and though they went no farther than the steps beyond the doors, it took nearly thirty minutes for everyone to assemble and come to stand in their places: The royal family, plus associated retainers stood to one side of the steps, each of them filing out slowly and separately. Regis noted the brief look of panic among the organizers as they realized none of the king's retinue was in attendance and reordered the others to fill out the space more evenly. When they were through, it almost looked intentional.

Then came the Nox Fleurets side to fill out the other side of the staircase. Though they had not so many people to fill the same space, there were some few honored Tenebraean guests that had arrived for the sake of the ceremony.

Last but not least came Lucis' ruling council. Again, their ranks were unexpectedly sparse and the ubiquitous crew of event planners scurried among them to even them out.

Throughout all, came the steady thrumming at the back of Regis' mind.

Initially he thought it nothing more than the cheering of the crowd—the crowd that filled every inch of available space across the Citadel drive and spilled out through the open gates, packing the streets well beyond. But as the minutes passed, the pounding grew more distinct. Not the steady chant of an eager audience, but the building power of an awakening Astral.

The Hydraean was coming.

Would she be forced to travel across the sea from Altissia to reach them and, if so, how long would that take? Could they complete the ceremony before she arrived in Insomnia? Or would it be wiser to halt the ceremony now?

Tens of thousands of people stood out in the open and Insomnia sat upon an island. They were not prepared for the wave that Leviathan would bring upon them. But if they halted matters now, perhaps there would be enough time to clear the streets at the very least.

And yet, calling off the ceremony had consequences of its own.

He had been granted a full night of warning before Ramuh's awakening. If Leviathan was at all similar, they would have at least eight hours before she awoke fully and perhaps longer before she reached Insomnia. That was sufficient time to complete the betrothal and see the streets cleared without causing a panic.

_If_ Leviathan's awakening was similar to Ramuh's.

He glanced around to take in the reactions of the others. Reina had noticed nothing—which was unlike her—and she smiled, distracted, across at Ravus. Ravus, also, seemed occupied in the moment. Noctis was rubbing his temples, shaking his head at something Ignis was saying to him—was that a headache caused by the Hydraean's awakening, or the tedium of the afternoon? Lunafreya stood quite still with her hands clasped before her, but she wore a furrow on her brow. Sylva held her eyes fixed on the sky, yet she lowered her gaze to meet his almost as if she had sensed his eyes upon her. She lifted her eyebrows a fraction of an inch—a mild expression that might have meant anything or nothing.

He could speak to none of them. Not as they stood before cameras and microphones, presented to all of Lucis. And his chance to interrupt the ceremony was wasting away as well, as the magistrate stepped forward to begin.

Needless to say, Regis was not as attentive as he ought to have been at his daughter's betrothal. He kept half an eye on Sylva and half on sky, all the while fighting to appear somber and focused. Had he been able to put eyes on the sea, he would have. The fact that he couldn't only troubled him all the more.

The pounding was growing worse. Rapidly worse. To the point where Regis fought to keep from wincing against the pressure and Reina's hand tightened on his arm. He looked down to find her leaning, face pale and drawn, against him. While he had deliberated, the magic of the day had been stolen out from under her nose.

Regis leaned closer under pretense of adjusting her coronet and whispered in her ear. "Are you alright, my dear?"

Her voice, when it came, was tight and strained. "I feel as if the whole world was pressing in on me. Crushing me."

An apt analogy.

Not far away, Noctis was standing with his eyes shut tight and his palms pressed against closed lids. Ignis was hovering at his elbow, looking ever more alarmed.

Regis was not the only one to have noticed. Ravus was watching Reina was growing concern on his features. Sylva caught Regis' eye and mouthed a single word:

_Hydraean_.

They were not reaching the end of this ceremony. Not even if Reina had been of a mind to continue, which he now very much doubted she was.

"Your Royal Majesty, if you would step forward?"

The voice of the magistrate summoned him forth from indecision. He stepped forward.

"Queen Sylva, I must beg your pardon. In light of brewing events this ceremony must be postponed," Regis said.

A shocked hush fell over the crowd. Sylva nodded, tight-lipped, and laid her hand on Ravus' arm.

"Yes, you're right," she said. "This is not time for merry making."

The magistrate stood gaping at them both. Regis turned to banish the crowd, but before he could utter so much as a single word, a wave of power crashed into him, sending him staggering, disoriented. Somewhere, Reina cried out. Several other voices shouted in alarm—Ignis, Gladiolus, Iris, Ravus—but he could put together no coherent words for several seconds. When at last his brain was in working order, the first thoughts through his mind were the first uttered beside him.

"She's awake," Reina whispered.

The sound of a great crashing wave came from the north followed by an unearthly roar.

She was awake. And she was in Cavaugh.


	52. The Hydraean

"Crowe, take Reina inside! Gladiolus, keep Noctis safe!" Regis had to shout to be heard over the din that was a panicking crowd.

His councilors and staff had surged around him, awaiting instructions. Even as his children were pulled away and Sylva sent her own after them, the journalists and news crew scrambled to rearrange themselves for whatever new show was to be put on before them—they had front row tickets this time and they were unlikely to relinquish them unless forced. No need. Let them film what they would.

The audience had turned into a mass of ants, scattering at the first drops of rain. Regis gritted his teeth. How many would be trampled in the stampede? This was precisely the panic he had hoped to avoid.

"Captain Ulric!" Regis swiveled to find the captain of the Kingsglaive not far away, gathering his people to him. "Crowd control. As well as you can. Your duty is to Lucis' people."

And, before Ulric could respond, he turned to find Sylva. "Can I engage her?"

"Yes, I think so," Sylva said. She shut her eyes, her face twisting in focus. "She is physically present. Show yourself to Her and you should be recognized without my intervention."

"Sire. Where would you have us?" Aldebrand was at his elbow.

"Wherever you are needed. If waves hit the city, Insomnia must be prepared. See Clarus—he will have details."

"Regis?"

He had all but forgotten that Crea was present until she said his name. So used to he was having her tucked safely away somewhere. But no longer.

"I must face the Hydraean," Regis said. "But you are needed here. Reina and Noctis—and the Citadel itself—will all cry out for guidance."

Her face was pale and drawn with fear. Despite that, she nodded. "Be careful."

"And you." He granted himself just enough time to steal a kiss from her. Then he turned away.

He reached for the Armiger and felt the welling of power within him, near overflowing at his call. Power burst around him, his own adding percussion to the constant harmony that was Leviathan's steady roll. Several onlookers cried out as his feet lifted from the ground. As he ascended, cameras followed. But his sights were set elsewhere.

From the Citadel drive, the northern coast of Insomnia was blocked by the tri towers. But as he gained altitude and left the shelter of the royal grounds, he caught sight of what he already knew was waiting. North of the city, beyond the rocky cliffs, which dropped steeply off to the sea, a serpent rose from the waters: her blue-grey scales glistened like gemstones in the afternoon sun. And her roars rattled windows all across the city.

Even as he gained in altitude, Regis could see the water pulling away from Insomnia's coasts. The sheer drop off the cliffs grew deeper and deeper, as if the Hydraean was swallowing up the ocean. Yet it was not the disappearance of the water that concerned him, but its inevitable return.

He was of a height with the Wall and heading north. Skyscrapers had faded to mere block towers, cars had become toys, and people were scarcely visible at all. And still Leviathan towered, now airborne, as the entirety of the ocean pulled away and left Insomnia behind—a scab of an island jutting up from the rocky earth below.

She would wash them away and drag the whole city out to sea.

Could he reach her in time? If he did, would it matter? How long would it take to convince her to lay down her might and leave Lucis standing? Could she even stop this now, if she wished?

It hardly mattered.

The building power broke. The waves that she had drawn back were released.

And the water returned.

In a panicked moment, Regis did the only thing he could think to do. The only thing left to him. He gathered up his mana and flung it into the Wall, fortifying it as if for some great siege by a Magitek force—and then more. The Wall was not often knit tightly enough to block out water and rain passed through easily, but it could be. In theory.

It wouldn't be enough. Not while he sustained the Armiger—which he needed unless he desired to go plummeting hundreds of feet to the streets below—and not if he wished still to address the Hydraean on the other side of this wave.

He reached without thinking, first for Reina, then for Noctis. _Once more I need your aid, dear ones._

Not for Lucis—though he could scarcely deny that Insomnia would fall beneath this onslaught—but for their own sake. He could not protect them unless they protected themselves. The irony did not escape him.

Reina took his grasping hand willingly. Already she was bound to Noctis and through them came the welling of mana he required.

_We hold the wall against the force of the wave,_ he told them as they poured strength into the skeleton of the Wall, _As tightly as we can._

More tightly than ever before.

They worked as rapidly as they could—though with half-trained and inexperienced minds, it was far from fast enough. The sea had returned.

Leviathan roared. The wave—towering higher even than the Hydraean herself—crashed over Insomnia and shattered upon the Wall. Regis winced, held aloft still by the power of the Armiger. The waters pounded, a rapid building of pressure all across the entire dome and quite unlike anything Regis had ever held against before. This was no Magitek siege. This was no cannon fire or focused weaponry. This was the might of the entire sea, mustering to break his will.

Even with three minds clustered together to patch cracks and push back against the pressure, it wasn't enough.

The first cracks formed, webbing outward from overhead as the sea swallowed them up and gave the impression that Insomnia had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Regis struggled against them, sweat dripping now in beads down his face, coming to collect in his beard and collar. He could not hold both the Wall and the Armiger. Perhaps he could not hold the Wall at all. But on one point he was certain: dropping from this height would mean death.

_Hold tight, dear ones_.

The Wall shattered.

Under the pressure of the ocean, under the might of the Hydraean, it gave way, collapsing inward from the center and falling—glittering—down to allow the water in. Regis braced himself. He could only hope that they had sheltered the city from the brunt of impact. Though dropping an ocean atop the city was a small improvement, anything was likely to help.

He hoped.

The waters crashed over him first. Held aloft as he was, he had to struggle to maintain the height he had gained. But they only attempted to drag him to the ground without throwing him backwards. And when he emerged out the top—coughing and spitting and soaked through to his socks—the skies were clear.

Save for the Hydraean.

"Leviathan!" Regis gathered up his voice and threw it in a roar he hoped would match hers. It sounded insignificant in comparison to her world-shattering sounds, but despite all, she swivelled her head and fixed yellow reptilian eyes on him. "Hear me, Hydraean! Before you bring greater devastation on the whims of another, think first of all the suffering you have already caused."

Leviathan swayed in the air, like a snake—whether entranced or preparing to strike, he could only guess. He hoped for the former and pressed on.

"Where last has The Draconian's bidding led you? A darkness shrouds this world and it is of your making! Now, upon our own legs, mortals stand against the scourge and oppose that you claim to abhor, and for our temerity you seek to strike us down! Have you no shame for what you have done?"

" _Thy defiance credits thee not, O King. The Hydraean hast heard of thy misdeeds. And for thy missteps, She comes to wash clean thy lands."_ Her voice pounded inside his brain—like Ramuh's, her voice formed no words in any language he knew, but their meaning rang out in his mind nevertheless. " _Even if thou should remain standing at the finish, others will follow after. The Archaean will lay low thy lands before thou can reachest him to stay his hand."_

An ominous warning, and one he preferred not to think too deeply on. When this threat was dealt with and he was no longer hanging hundreds of feet above the city, looking something like a drowned rat, with his suit and cape hanging damply about his shoulders, he could think on other threats. But for now his mind was here.

"As before the Fulgarian did, before you," Regis called. Even now he could feel the faint thrumming of Ramuh's bond to him—the Fulgarian's only remaining tie to Eos. If not for that, He would have been flung off into oblivion and gone forever from Eos. Indeed, had Regis been so inclined he might have cut the bond and forced the matter. But no. He needed the Astrals still. To stand with him against their brother. "Yet now he hangs by a thread, prepared at a moment to drop into endless sleep. To make a true stand against the darkness he took part in creating. Can you truly claim you are in opposition to the Starscourge, if you are unwilling to do the same?"

What was it Ramuh had instructed him to say to her?

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the words were streaming from his lips, as if placed there by another. And perhaps they had been.

"Let the storm and sea rest forevermore beyond the reaches of churning darkness."

Leviathan's head swung back and forth, as if to inspect him with one eye first, then the other. Each eye was as large as his head, but Regis held his ground.

" _Forevermore…"_ Her voice held now a mournful note, as if of longing. " _Free from the burdens of guilt and doubt."_

"If you were willing to do as Ramuh has done, Eos would remember you as blameless. The solution. Not the cause."

For the first time her yellow eyes shut, cutting off the piercing stare and allowing his chest to expand fully.

" _The solution…"_

Her eyes snapped open. " _Let the sea swell with the storm. Let the darkness thus be purged from our souls. And yours."_

And with that, the world snapped.

Where once he had hovered before the great and hulking form of an enormous sea serpent, instead there was merely a splash of water—glittering droplets hanging in the air as faint as mist for but a split second before those, too, faded. Something great that had once been tied up to the heart of Eos was gone. Dug up as if it had never been present at all.

And in its place hung a single thread, bound instead to Regis.


	53. The Way Forward

This time when Regis touched back down on the Citadel steps, he managed to keep his balance. It was just as well, given that a series of cameras was still following his every move. Fools. Had they no sense of self preservation? What were they doing still set up on the Citadel drive?

Well. At least the immediate danger had passed for now. He gave them a wave and inside he went, where chaos reigned. The entry hall was packed not only with Citadel staff and guards, but with courtiers and hundreds of people who had doubtless been in the drive only an hour before. Had it truly been an hour? He had no notion of the passage of time, nor any clock to set him straight. It hardly mattered.

"Peace." Regis lifted his hands and his voice.

The echoing of panicked voices subsided to nothing as heads turned in his direction.

"Peace," he repeated more quietly. "The Hydraean has gone. The danger has passed. You may all return to your homes in a calm and orderly fashion."

An optimistic instruction, perhaps, but silence followed his words. Slowly the whispers began to build again as people looked to their neighbors and exchanged thoughts or questions, of which they doubtless all had many.

"King Regis! What's happening to Lucis?" A voice called out of the crowd. "First the Fulgarian, now the Hydraean. The Gods are angered, aren't they?"

Regis smiled bitterly. Questions he could not answer simply, and should not answer casually.

"Eos is changing," he said, for that was all he could offer them. "I intend to insure it changes for the better."

And with that he pressed his way through the crowd: they split easily for him, though hands reached out to brush over his wet cape, as if having touched him somehow made them closer to history. Perhaps it did.

At the back of the hall he found Crea.

"I'm so sorry, Regis. I tried to calm them, but—"

Regis lifted a hand to quiet her. "A panicked crowd is no simple matter to deal with. Now I must see my children. And find someone to send Clarus to me…"

He pulled away, distracted. After a moment she followed.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"I am tired. And rather damp. But otherwise whole, though the Hydraean's words have stirred further concerns." Had Bahamut awakened multiple Astrals but only warned him of one? Would he, now that Leviathan had failed him?

"I sent Reina and Noctis upstairs," Crea offered. "Though I don't know if they made it there. Everything's been so hectic…"

Indeed. Even now, the halls of the Citadel, usually peaceful and quiet, were in chaos. What few people were about ran hither and thither to whatever end—as if every member of staff in the Citadel had suddenly become a messenger for some cause. And if there was a cause to play messenger to, doubtless Clarus sat in the center of it.

Regis caught a boy in Citadel colors as he ran past.

"Your Majesty!"

"Is Master Amicitia about the Citadel?"

"Yes, Sire."

"You may tell him it is over and I wish to see him upstairs immediately. Tell him to bring the others."

They boy hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain which task to give precedence to. But only a second. Then he bowed sharply, turned on his heel, and ran back the direction he had come.

That was one trouble dealt with. Hopefully.

He ascended to the upper levels in silence with Crea. In the lounge, they were met by not only Reina and Noctis, but all of their friends and the Nox Fleurets as well. Despite the crowd gathered, Regis had eyes only for his children.

He swept forward and gathered them both up in his arms, crushing them against his chest despite Noctis' protests.

"Oh, my dearest ones… I am so sorry…"

Now that the rush of the moment was over, he could see the reality of what he had done. And what he had done was draw strength from his twelve year old children to uphold the Wall and protect the city. Yes, he had told himself in that instant it wasn't for Lucis—that it was for their own good—but did it truly make any difference? He had used them. He had used both of them, as if they were simply extra reservoirs of strength that he could draw on in moments of need.

He was on his knees on the lounge floor while both of them stood in the circle of his arms.

"Leave us," Crea's voice said from behind him. "Please. Everyone, take yourselves downstairs."

A wave of foot traffic passed him by as, one by one, the others dispersed and excused themselves from the main lounge to congregate on the floor below. At last he was alone with his family.

"We're alright, Father," Reina said at length. "It didn't hurt us."

He lifted his eyes and studied them both, one at a time, searching for a lie behind her words. Yet there was nothing to indicate she wasn't telling the truth. They were not currently overflowing with mana, perhaps, but their reserves were not so low as his, and it was nothing a good night's rest would not recover for them.

Yet it did little to soothe his guilty conscience.

He should never have reached out to them in the first place. It mattered little that he had no one else to turn to, save his children. They were children! _His_ children. And by Eos he was meant to protect them, to be the unfaltering figure who stood before them and shielded them from the world, and if he could not do that much…

Then what use was he?

He hugged both of them to his chest and kissed their foreheads. Crea had seated herself on the sofa behind them and watched with a distant, dazed expression on her face. She did not understand what had occurred. He was almost thankful for that. If he had explained it to her, what would she think of him? A weak king and father who drained strength from his children so he could stand.

Never again.

The Wall was broken now, well and truly. And though it had been little more than a facade for weeks, to have it gone entirely was a numbing experience. He had not realized how much weight even the facade placed upon him until the pressure was released.

How much of his power could he recover, now that it was gone? How much of his youth could be reclaimed? The years of his life when he had been spry as a schoolboy were long gone, but at least he need no longer bow beneath the weight of the Wall like a crippled old man.

And yet they had no time to learn precisely how much he might recover, given the opportunity.

The elevator doors slid open. Out came Clarus, Weskham, Cid, and Cor.

"Regis!" Clarus, stepped forward, looking alarmed. "Are you alright?"

In retrospect, sitting on the floor in a puddle of seawater brought in on his own cape was not the single most dignified position to be met in. Cid confirmed as much.

"You look like hell, boy."

He was soaked through to the bone. His hair lay matted against his head. His crown—he lifted a hand to straighten it and touched only hair—was missing. Somewhere in the streets of northern Insomnia, doubtless. All of these things were insignificant in the grand scheme.

"Is it over?" Cor asked.

"I fear it has only just begun," Regis said. "Two Astrals have joined with me. Three yet remain. The longer we wait for the Draconian to make a move, the more danger Lucis will be in. We must act now—wake the Archaean before Bahamut does, and take matters at last into our own hands. We must beat him at his own game."

And Ardyn, while they were at it. For he was at the heart of this all.

"You intend to drive to the Disc of Cauthess and wake the Archaean yourself?" Clarus asked.

"Not alone," Regis conceded, "But yes."

"We'll come with you, Father," Reina said.

"No, my dear. You will both remain here, where you will be safe." With any luck. "Now run along. Go on. Downstairs and rejoin with the others. And you might let the Oracle know I wish to speak with her."

Though Reina fixed him with a reprimanding look for dismissing her from serious discussions in such an offhand way, Noctis jumped at the chance to escape. He thankfully pulled his sister along with him and a moment later he stood in the lounge with only Crea and his retinue. For once, the usual Crownsguards and servants were absent—pulled away by the chaos in the Citadel and throughout the city.

Someone would have to handle that, but he could not spare the time.

"If we're all going, we'll have to take two cars," Cor noted.

Regis looked them over. His faithful retinue. His loyal retainers. Decades had passed since each and every one of them had sworn oaths to the crown and still they were as willing as ever to charge headfirst into danger at his behest. It was a tendency that age should have shaken out of them. But at thirty-five, their youngest member was too staunchly loyal to do anything but charge into danger after him. Even if it was a stupid idea, they would have insisted on coming.

It _was_ a stupid idea. But it was the best one Regis had.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. A moment later, Sylva had joined them in the lounge.

"I need you to awaken the Archaean," Regis said without preamble.

Her eyes widened. "So soon? I had thought—"

"I tire of idling about doing nothing while my people suffer. I will not wait about for the inevitable threat to descend and wreak havoc on my lands, threaten my family. For the moment we stand one step ahead of the Draconian. Let us act now and remain that way."

It was still but one step among too many. But at least it would be a step taken of his own volition.

"The Messenger will accompany the Father King." Gentiana had not—he was all but certain—been standing in the lounge with them a moment before. And yet now she did.

Regis turned to regard her. She stood beside Sylva with a placid, unreadable expression on her face. His first impulse was to deny her. And yet could he truly dictate what a Messenger would or would not do? It irked him to consider, but her words had been a mere statement of what she _would_ do, not a request. He could not stop her if she chose to follow.

"Is that so? And what stakes have you in this encounter?" He asked.

She smiled an enigmatic smile that meant nothing at all. "The Father King doubts my sincerity."

"Merely your motivations," Regis said. "Though it may be the case that two Astrals have allied themselves with me, three have not and one will not. As Messenger, are you not allied with the Astrals by necessity?"

"As Messenger, I am bound to convey the will of the Astrals to mankind. Nothing more. And nothing less."

"Can you swear to me, then, that you will not interfere in my undertaking?"

"As Messenger, I swear not to interfere in the affairs of Astrals and men."

That would have to do. Whether a Messenger could be so bound to her word, he had no notion. Perhaps a promise made to one of mankind meant less than nothing to one so high above. But he was unlikely to receive any better assurance than that.

He turned toward the elevator, discussion over.

"Regis."

He was halted by Crea's voice and turned to find her more or less where he had left her, standing beside the sofa.

"I'll meet you at the car," Regis said to Clarus. While the others went on ahead, he retraced his steps. Yet even when they had disappeared and left Regis and Crea standing alone in the lounge, he could think of no words to say.

She laughed, though tears built in her eyes. "It's stupid, but when I agreed to marry you I didn't think I'd have to stay behind and watch you march off to face down gods."

He reached out to cup her cheek, brushing away the first tear that fell. "Crea, my heart… you know I cannot take you with me."

"I know. I'd only be in the way."

"And I need you here. I leave behind a city in a state of uncertainty and panic. The council may be well capable of cleaning up this mess, but the people will need a face to look to. You are that face, Crea."

She shook her head, which forced more tears from her eyes. "I couldn't even calm a single room full of people. How could I manage a city of them?"

He took her face in both hands, rubbing her tears dry. "The same way you convince frightened children to mind you. With a will. Act as if they should listen to you and you will find that they do."

He took what opportunity he had and kissed her while she stood in the circle of his arms. She leaned against him and the taste of her tears met his lips. Would that he could spare more than this minute for her.

But his time was up. He pulled away, sparing one last searching glance for her features and stepping back from her. Though she stepped forward, trailing his steps to the elevator doors, she did not cross the threshold.

"Stand firm, Crea. For me," he said. "I love you."


	54. Severed

It was years since the Regalia had been thus populated and freed from the confines of the Crown City. Indeed, it was nearly as many since Regis had left Insomnia to drive across Lucis. The past two times he had departed for Tenebrae and they had spent little time in Lucis beyond the capital city. Now they left through the main gates and sped out into the vast stretches of Lucis beyond.

The kingdom was in shambles.

It had been only a few weeks since the rains and floods had ceased—too little time to rebuild what had been washed away and repair what had been swept up in landslides. All along the road they encountered proof that repairs were well under way—work crews gathered with shovels and picks, shifting mud and rocks from the road. In several places the road was wide enough for only one car to pass through. In others it was gone altogether. More than once they were forced to backtrack and find a way around, cutting across the rocky soil of Leide to find a path back to the road. If not for Weskham's patient hands on the wheel, Regis would have gone mad with the inefficiency of it all.

They had just crossed into Duscae and were beginning to trade rocky washouts for fallen trees when a sharp pain shot through Regis' head, as if someone had driven a spike through his skull.

He gasped, clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut against the blinding pain. For an immeasurable time there was nothing but the pain—too thick even to force thoughts around. When his mind came to terms with the sensation and he was capable of more thought than simply alarm, he traced it. The white hot pain was a blade thrust through him from the crystal itself.

No. Not the crystal. But the consciousness behind it.

The Draconian.

_Thou hast defied me for the last time, O Father King. Thou cannot be suffered to live._

Regis gritted his teeth through the pain and forced thoughts into coherent words. _You need me. If ever you wish this darkness to end, you need me._

_The child thou hast fathered is all I require. Thou art expendable. Thou art a liability._

The pain flared, as if Bahamut stood above him and thrust a blade—torturously slowly—through Regis' skull between his eyes.

_Do you think my son will bow before you, after you killed his father?_ Regis asked. _He will defy you as I have. Never again will you convince the Caelums to bend a knee with brute force. You will end this world by your own hubris, and be left to rot in the darkness._

_Then I shalt cleanse Eos myself. Thy bloodline was never necessary. Merely a mercy granted to mankind._

And for a moment Regis was granted horrifying insight into the Draconian's plans: a blinding light that washed over all of Eos, so scorchingly bright that it shrivelled all it touched—the Starscourge vanished before it, but so too did all life whither. Humans—burned and vaporized—were transformed to sparkling clean piles of bone. Crops withered and turned to ash, which blew away on the wind. Beasts—animals and daemons alike—fared no better than mankind.

And in the wake of Bahamut's cleansing light, Eos was left sterile.

Not a breath of life stirred. Not a blade of grass.

The darkness was gone, and so too was everything else.

_You would destroy all life on Eos, merely to erase your own sin?_ If he could have shouted the words, he would have. Instead he sharpened his thoughts to a knife point and flung them at Bahamut.

It did no good. The blinding pain grew stronger by the second.

Regis stretched out, reaching for any shred of power that would allow him to break free, to sever the bond that held him bound to Bahamut. The other Astrals, perhaps—if they would stand against Bahamut, now was the time.

Before he could gather up the strings that tied him to Ramuh and Leviathan, however, another consciousness caught his—like a hand grasping his flailing arm.

A familiar voice drifted through his mind. _Do you tire of this too-bright world? Long for a place to shut your eyes and block out the scorching_ goodness _of it all? Well then I have just the thing!_

Ardyn. He was manifest as a great seeping shadow—the black mist that accompanied both him and the daemons—and he wrapped around Regis, pressing in against the blinding pain of Bahamut's blade.

In contrast, Bahamut was an armored figure holding a blade of pure light against Regis' head. _Thou hast allied thyself with the one true enemy. Thou art irredeemable, Regis Lucis Caelum. Thy throne and thy power fall instead to—_

_Yes, yes, we've heard it all before._ Ardyn cut him off as darkness seeped up the blade, corrupting light with dark. Starscourge.

The blackness crept up the blade, blotting out the light until Regis could see again. He could see the heart of the star—the crystal, and the ties that bound him to it. Through this, Bahamut had assaulted him. And through this, now, crept the Starscourge. Creeping, corrupting, darkening, and reaching for the Heart of Eos.

The bond snapped.

Without it, Regis tumbled into nothingness, adrift and lost in a world with no sensation and only one thought in his mind:

His magic was gone.

He, like his daughter, had been severed from the crystal. Deemed unfit to wear the crown and rule the kingdom.

Hands grasped him and heaved him onto solid ground. And Regis stood in the inky blackness of the In Between, staring at a pair of familiar shoes.

"Didn't I warn you?" Ardyn asked, with a tone that suggested a parent scolding a child for touching the hot stove. "Kill him before he kills you. And the rest of your kind."

"I cannot face him yet." If anything, this encounter was only proof of that.

Ardyn tsked. "More friends? Aren't I enough for you?"

"With friends like you…" Regis stopped himself from finishing the comment.

"I'm wounded," Ardyn said, and almost sounded it. "If you had wanted to collect Astrals, you should have let me know. I have one already."

And without bothering to elaborate on that point, he turned on his heel and vanished into the darkness, leaving Regis to grope his way back to consciousness.


	55. The Kings of Eld

"Wait! I think he's coming around!"

"Regis? Can you hear me?"

He was sitting—no, laying—on the ground. Fairly soft ground, thankfully, and cushioned by grass or moss of some sort.

"Rather too well," Regis said. Despite the absence of any cut or mark between his eyes where Bahamut's blade had rested, his head still pounded.

"He's awake!" Weskham's voice said nearby. The next moment a phone pressed against Regis' ear. "Say something."

"Something," Regis said.

" _Regis? Are you alright?"_ Crea's voice issued from the speaker.

Before he could respond, Reina's followed. " _F-father? You're gone from my chest."_

She sounded five years old again. That alone was enough to force him fully back to wakefulness. He struggled upright, taking his phone from Weskham.

"I'm alright," he said. Gone from her chest? What did that mean?

The magic.

He was tied to her via his own magic, which stemmed from the crystal. Indeed, she was tied to the crystal only via his magic, and so she, too, was cut off once more. At least this was not a new sensation for her. Regis, meanwhile, sat in a too-flat world, blinking and wondering if it had always been so few dimensions.

He reached for the In Between, reached for his sword, and found—not that he could not reach it, not that he was blocked from it, but simply that he had no arms.

"My magic, however, is gone. I am sorry you had to experience that, my dear." He glanced around, taking in his surroundings for the first time. They sat in a wooded clearing off the road, somewhere in Duscae. Gentiana was nowhere to be seen, but Sylva sat nearby and his retinue was gathered around, near enough to listen in. They, too, would have felt the severing of his connection to the crystal.

The Kingsglaive!

Every Kingsglaive in Lucis had just lost his or her magic. Inexplicably. And while they stood in the midst of a panicking city. He could think of worse times, but not many.

" _Regis, what's going on?"_ Crea asked.

He told them, in as short order as he could manage, what had occurred. When he finished there was silence. For a time.

"So you have no magic to speak of?" Clarus asked at length.

"Not precisely. I have no magic of my own, but I still possess the Ring. And the ties that bind two of the Six to me. While all I have shared magic with are now bereft of it, I am not left defenseless," Regis said.

Which was just as well, given that they intended to march into the Arcaean's realm and demand that he sacrifice his life for the greater good. When phrased in that way, it sounded ironically familiar.

"Pleased to hear it," Weskham said. "The rest of us, however, _are_ left without weapons."

Regis struggled to his feet. Clarus took pity on him and hauled him upright.

"Reina, you can share with Noctis. I believe you have learned enough that, between the two of you, you should be able to work out how the bond is formed." In fact, it would have been astounding if they didn't know already. There was some connection between the twins that wasn't _quite_ a magic bond, but wasn't anything else Regis knew of, either.

"Crea, I shall need you to send word to Captain Ulric. Let him know that it is expected for all his Glaives to be bereft of their magic, and that a solution is underway.

"As for the rest of you," he said. "I believe I know some kings who may be sympathetic to our cause."

With any luck.

Orders delivered and assurances given, Regis ended the phone call and ushered his retinue, Sylva and Gentiana—who had reappeared with no word on her absence—back to the cars. He was loath to waste any more time on their way to visit the Archaean. He could only hope that addressing the Lucii would take little time in the physical world.

Once they were all seated and back on the road, Regis shut his eyes and focused his attention in and down, pulling on the power of the Ring as he did so. Bahamut might have severed his connection to the crystal, but he could not altogether keep Regis from the In Between. Just as Reina had never been locked out by her lack of magic.

He called to the Lucii and they came, manifest—as they always were—as great suits of armor wreathed in blue flame. However, that was where the similarities ended. Ever when he called upon them, he was on a level with them. A king among kings, even if he had not yet ascended to the ranks of the spectral Lucii. Now he stood below, towered over and made to feel insignificant. Furthermore, though The Mystic stood always at the forefront to address him, today that position was given over to The Fierce.

"Regis Lucis Caelum," King Tonitrus' voice was low and booming, more a rumble than a clear sound. "You have been deposed. A king no longer, your crown falls instead to Noctis Lucis Caelum."

So Bahamut had said. Or attempted to. And yet the idea that some distant figure on high—some being who knew nothing of what Regis had sacrificed for Lucis, who knew nothing of the world at all, and who, no less, had created the very darkness they all sought to destroy—could point a finger and decide who did or did not rule a kingdom was preposterous.

And yet, it was precisely what he had done to Ardyn, was it not?

Was this why Somnus stood in the back, a subdued figure amongst his brethren? He could not face down Regis, knowing he stood in the wrong, knowing that Regis knew all his missteps and transgressions.

"Noctis is not even twelve years old," Regis said. "Even if I were prepared to accept the Draconian's judgement on who should rule Lucis, this would be a step too far."

"He may have a regent, but the throne is rightly his. Your connection to the light has been severed," Tonitrus said. "You can wield neither the crystal nor the ring."

"Is that truly the judgement you wish to pass? Before you cast me out, open yours minds to mine—and if my memories are insufficient truth, note now that two Astrals have taken bonds to stand beside me and against Bahamut. Would you truly leave Lucis in the hands of a twelve year old at the whim of the very same being who inflicted the Starscourge upon us?"

A silence followed his words. Though the towering icons in their spectral armor held little in common with their human selves, a shifting ran through their ranks. They seemed almost to look aside to each of their neighbors, as if wishing to see what everyone else would do before making their own choice. When had the Kings of Lucis become thus indecisive and incapable of seeing truth and justice? Each of them had once stood in his very place. Had death stripped from them the memories of a kingdom and a family? The true reason they strove against the darkness?

"And you, King Somnus?" Regis called into the silence. "Would you once more make the same mistake? The mistake you regret so deeply, which has made mockery of your very existence and that of every one of us thereafter? Will you turn aside from your flesh and blood and instead take the word of the Draconian?"

The silence that followed seemed, if possible, thicker and deeper than that before. This time, the Lucii turned to look toward their founding father, who stood in the back ranks, head bowed in the most human pose a massive suit of armor could assume.

And finally, he spoke.

"Would you grant me this second chance to prove my worth, despite all I have done?"

"I would," Regis said. "I must. If you are incapable of redemption, what must that mean for all who have followed you?"

The form of The Mystic shrank. The armor receded, as if banished from the human form it had rested upon, and the next moment Regis stood face to face with a very young King Somnus while the remaining Lucii towered above them, monoliths of no consequence.

The body he took for himself was so painfully young. Was this, perhaps, the age at which he had come into the crown? The age that he had been trapped in ever since while he relived his greatest failure and his greatest regret?

"I do not know if anything I do hereafter will be sufficient to redeem my past," he said _._ "But know this, King Regis: all of my failures are being undone under your reign. Every choice I was too much of a coward to make, every path I was too blind to see, you have taken. And so I say—whatever becomes of me, you have redeemed the Caelum bloodline. You are the true King of Lucis. However it came to pass."

While his words were still sinking in, Somnus turned abruptly to face the Lucii. "My sons. Let this be the day when the Lucii cast off our pasts and take hold of our own destiny. Let us no longer allow rule to fall where another claims it should. The king who stands before you has given as much and more than any of us. The Draconian claims he is no longer fit to be king, yet I see no evidence of this. Instead I suggest that Bahamut is unfit to be God. "

In the silence that followed, Regis felt more than heard the slow agreement as it passed through their ranks. A hundred kings turning aside from the Draconian to stand united with their brethren.

Somnus turned back to Regis and held out his hand. "The Lucii stand with you, King Regis. Lead and we shall follow."

Regis took the outstretched hand. In that instant of contact, a bond leapt between them. From beyond the grave, magic came flooding back to him. He could feel the depth of the world once more, sense the pulsing power of Eos all around him. But that was not the end. From every Lucii came forth more bonds and more power. Gifts he had never before asked for nor possessed came to him: the strength of every Lucii.

And through him they reached out to the others: each Lucii finding a bond to a Glaive and granting their own gifts alongside Regis'. The bonds formed once more between Regis and his retinue, as he acted as an intermediary for Somnus' magic to restore their connection to the crystal.

"Go now," Somnus said. "Lead Lucis back to the light."


	56. The Astrals Three

It was the second time thus far that afternoon that he had climbed out of the In Between and come to consciousness on the road to Cauthess. This time, he was still where he had been upon falling out of consciousness: in the back of the Regalia with Clarus keeping a sharp eye on him.

When Regis stirred, Clarus sat straighter. "A successful mission?"

Regis held out his sword and, this time through Somnus' borrowed magic, his blade leapt to his hand. Clarus leaned back in his seat to avoid being face-to-face with the point.

"Perhaps not in such close quarters," Clarus suggested.

Doubtless he was right. Regis banished the blade and tested the bonds that now ran through him, like a ring through which a hundred glowing strings were threaded and stretched out toward Insomnia. The Kingsglaives were restored their magic. The only bond not rebuilt was his tie to Reina. After so many years, the lack of connection to her left an empty place inside him. The place where she ought to have been.

But she would, by now, have formed a fresh bond with Noctis. Somehow it seemed more fitting that she shared magic with her twin than with her father, however much he hated letting go of that nearness. She was growing up and, as Crea was so fond of telling him, he needed to let her.

"All is in order," Regis said. "Let us make for the Disc with all possible haste."

Possible being the operative word. The roads in Duscae seemed to have fared little better than those in Leide, with the exception that Duscae had trees. Their progress was still frustratingly slow. And by the time they broke free of the trees and caught sight of the dazzling meteor, it was nearing dusk.

The road leading down toward the meteor was washed out, which forced them to park their cars at the top where the pavement ended and continue on foot. Even that held some precarious moments, with the eroded earth threatening to give way and dump them at the base of the meteor. While it might have been the fastest route down, Regis would have preferred that they all arrived alive.

Not far inside, they found the crumbling remains of a royal tomb. The tomb of the Mystic and one of the six Regis had already visited in his jaunt across Lucis as a prince. Still, he paused to lay his hand on the cold stone of Somnus' shoulder.

"We will undo this," he promised. "Together."

No sooner had he turned away than a rolling of power washed over him. And the earth shook.

"Regis!" Clarus seized his arm and dragged him away from the edge as the whole Disc shook. He stumbled back from the tomb of the Mystic as stone cracked and the meteor swallowed Somnus whole.

When at last the quaking subsided, the six of them stood crouched, exchanging looks ranging from curious to wary.

"I fear you may not need my help to wake the Archaean, Your Majesty," Sylva said.

"The Draconian has sensed your coming and awoken His kin," said Gentiana.

"Well. Let us not keep him waiting, then." Regis led the way, picking a path of crumbling stone and sandy dirt that led deeper into the meteor. Or so he hoped.

It was a winding path—not truly a walkway at all, but a thin curling of flat ground twisting lower and lower into the crater. Occasionally it disappeared entirely and they were forced to scramble across sheer cliff faces, burning their fingers on scalding stone. The ever rising heat, the occasional stirring of the earth beneath their feet, and the rolling of power, which pounded in Regis' skull, kept them from lowering their guard and becoming weary of the trek.

The red-brown stone crunched beneath their feet as the path levelled out and widened for a short time. It seemed impossible that but a few hours ago he had stood drenched and dripping with seawater in Insomnia. Now, not only had his cape dried, but it smoked and singed when it dragged too near the burning earth. His black suit was streaked with both soot and sea salt. And it was stifling.

He dragged off his cape and pauldron, and left them in a smoldering heap. At this rate, they would be ash in a few hours. Likewise, he discarded his coat and even his tie. With his collar loosened and his sleeves rolled up, he could at least breathe again.

The others had worn fewer layers to begin with, but Clarus had abandoned his formal robes and any other pieces he could part with. Cor's jacket was missing, as was Cid's, and Weskham stood only in his shirtsleeves, like Regis. Sylva fared worse; it was difficult to discard pieces of a gown, and more difficult still to navigate this terrain in one. More than once, he thought to turn her back, but the hardened look in her eyes kept him from suggesting such a thing. In any case, the way back would be no easier than the way forward; more than one boulder and slipped and rolled across behind them.

If Gentiana noticed the stifling heat, she gave no indication. She seemed almost to walk above the earth and even the soot did not touch her. And always she wore that placid and unnerving expression upon her face.

It was another few twists and turns before they caught sight of him. The Archaean, a small mountain of a creature, all built of stone and bearing the meteor upon his back. His form—or what they could see of it—was as a bald-headed, over-muscled man. Save for the fact that his skin was of stone and great rock formations jutted from his face and shoulder—like a parasitic growth that had overtaken fully half his face—one might have thought him of mankind.

But he was none of them. He was greater and deeper and more ancient than the tiny ant-like minds of humans could possibly comprehend. They clung to stone, holding tight to preserve their frail lives as Titan hammered home this point by pounding the cliff face above them. He did not try to crush them beneath his car-sized palm. He did not need to.

As the earth shook and rocks—large and small—rained down upon them, Regis broke his mind free from the thoughts imposed upon him by the Archaean. He thrust his magic up and out. In response, the soul of The Just stood for him, and granted him a barrier large enough to shield all his companions from the rain of stone.

So Titan thought himself greater than mankind, did he? He had certainly caused more pain and suffering than any human could have managed alone.

The quaking of the earth ceased. Titan withdrew his hand and a few more rocks fell harmless across Regis' barrier before he banished it.

Regis cast his eyes over those gathered around him. "Find stable ground. I will approach by sky and, with any luck, draw his attention from you."

"Regis—" Clarus cut off his own halting words, though the objection still formed on his face. "Be safe."

"I do not intend to fight a god today," Regis said. "Only to speak with him."

With any luck he would prove amenable and reasonable in the face of those other Astrals Regis had already allied with.

Clarus clasped his arm briefly. Cor gave him a curt nod.

"Godspeed, Your Majesty," Weskham said.

Cid spat soot onto the burning stone, which hissed in response. "Keep outta trouble, boy."

"I shall do my best."

Regis reached instinctively for the Armiger and found, with some surprise, that it came willingly to his call. Though Bahamut had severed his magic, for some reason this piece remained, unmarred by the Draconian. No time to dwell on it now. He let the power of the Armiger pour into him, fill him up, and burst out, lifting him off his feet as six spectral glaives materialized around him. For the second time that day he was weightless and climbing higher in the sky.

From above, he could see the Archaean clearly—he was buried in the earth up to his waist, as if the force of the meteor had pressed him deeply into the stone when he caught it. Even now, he held it aloft, resting across his back and supported by one arm. The whole thing wobbled as Titan lifted his head to watch Regis' ascent.

"Titan. Hear me." Regis' voice echoed throughout the crater as he cast it down to the Archaean. "You have woken to destroy a defiant king. Yet my purpose here is not violence or destruction, but an end to darkness. Already two of your kin stand beside me. Two who recognize your sins are unforgivable, but might be undone to grant you some fraction of redemption. Two who believe in the true path to light, without Caelum blood paving the way. I offer you the same. Stand with us. Let us undo the dark."

One blazing orange eye regarded Regis. The expression on Titan's face shifted through stages of fury and outrage, and even before he spoke, Regis knew what the answer would be.

" _You claim to oppose the darkness, and yet you are steeped in it. You may have fooled my kin, but you will not ensnare me. Two, you claim? What of the third that you have corrupted and hold upon a leash?"_

"Corrupted?" The response slipped from Regis' lips before he had even considered it. "I have no notion of what you speak. I hold no leashes. Those who stand behind me have done so of their own will."

" _Ifrit, the Fallen. The corrupted. You claim ignorance of this fact? At worst you are a liar. At best a fool. Neither will I ally myself with."_

"The Infernian has been corrupted? How?"

Dark mists swirled in the air beside him, as if the plague itself had localized and braved the light of the sun. And so it had: when the blackness receded, Ardyn hovered there in Caelum glory with an Armiger of his own. The spectral blades that surrounded him were unfamiliar—not those of the ancestors Regis was familiar with—and colored crimson as if the taint of the Starscourge had seeped so deeply into Ardyn's soul that it had even tainted his magic.

"Ah. Yes. That would have been me." He cast an unnerving smile down at Titan, who clenched one enormous fist in seething fury. "In my defense, he is such an obedient little pet. However could I resist?"

Regis fought hard against his own rising anger. He had allied himself with this man—if he could be called that—and set about to dismantle the Draconian at his suggestion. And yet, despite that, he turned around to find that Ardyn was toiling away, undermining him even now. He could not allow Ardyn to destroy his hopes of swaying Titan to their side, but neither could he distance himself from Ardyn in hopes that it would win the Archaean.

"We shall speak of this later," Regis said. "Archaean—"

"Shall we?" Ardyn twisted mid-air and placed himself between Regis and Titan. "Why don't we talk about it _now_. And while we're at it, why not discuss _your_ choice in allies? Or did you think I wouldn't notice you building bonds with Somnus?"

The line Regis walked grew more and more narrow with every passing breath. If any of them survived this he was never allying himself with a madman again.

"The Draconian has cut me off from the crystal, as you well know," Regis said, as if by speaking reasonably he could convince Ardyn to behave rationally. "I cannot very well carry out any piece of our bargain without my magic, and so I went to the Lucii for aid. All of my bloodline stems from Somnus. Though he has done unspeakable things, to dismiss him outright would be folly."

" _All_ of your bloodline? I think not." Ardyn's face hardened. "Did it never occur to you that _I_ might share power with you? Or would you never have accepted the same from me? Corrupted as I am."

He held out his hand, just as Somnus had. But where the In Between had left Somnus glowing with the blue light of Caelum magic, Ardyn was surrounded by a crimson haze of his own corruption. To take his hand was to take the Starscourge. That it offered power—perhaps even power greater than the Caelum line—was undeniable. And yet what of the cost? He could not very well sacrifice himself all for the sake of greater strength. For the sake of his people, his kingdom, his children, his friends, and his fiancee, he could never make that choice.

Regis met his gaze levelly. His lack of response was all the answer Ardyn required.

"As I thought," Ardyn said. "Too _pure_. My brother's spawn. How could I have thought you might ever truly aid me?"

"I intend to aid you. But I intend to do so without sacrificing what I am."

"And what you are is a man willing to overlook the greatest sin ever committed on Eos… and ally yourself with the sinner, rather than his victim. You have shown where your loyalties lie, _Nephew_. And they aren't with me." Ardyn lifted himself higher in the air. "If you will not ally yourself with me, I will simply have to make new friends. Starting here."

He twisted in the air and thrust his hands out toward Titan. Blackness welled up and spilled over, shooting out in a stream that corrupted everything in its path. Though Titan lifted his free arm to shield his face, it struck his hand and spidery black lines webbed across the stone.

"No!"

Regis might have shouted the word. Indeed, he had meant to. But his was not the only voice in the air, and before he could even gather the magic for a barrier to protect the Archaean, a crash of power nearly knocked him from the sky. When he was sensible enough to turn his eyes downward, he could see the others below, now standing nearly at the Archaean's waist.

Gentiana stepped apart from them. And in a shattering of ice and sharp power, she was Gentiana no more. In her place stood a pale skinned goddess of ice. Perhaps the most human of all the Astrals he had thus far seen, Shiva might well have passed among them, if not for her icy blue skin painted with glowing ethereal patterns, and the crown of icy horns that ringed her head.

Gentiana. Gentiana was the Glacian. All that time, right under his nose, sheltered in his own home, was another Astral. One who was supposed to be dead.

She lifted off the ground and rose up until she was level with Regis and Ardyn.

"Oh _there_ you are. I was wondering when you might show your face," Ardyn said.

"The Corrupted will not take another. The Glacian will not allow it."

"Is that so? Well luckily I have a friend to distract her for me while I go about dismantling her pretty little world. Perhaps you've met?"

A third stirring of power rolled over them. This one lanced through Regis like a red hot blade and he found himself a spectator as a third Astral dropped from the sky and landed in the crater in a blaze of flame.

The Infernian.

Even before he straightened and lifted his face, Regis could sense something amiss in the way his power thrummed. It was the strength of a God, yes, but in its patterns Regis felt corruption. Starscourge. When Ifrit rose to his feet and stared up at them, a blade nearly as tall as he was clenched in one hand, Regis could see the effects of corruption upon him. Fully half his body was taken over by black and seeping ichor. It transformed his skin into an infected sore—black and dead but animated unnaturally. Though his face was clear of the stuff—proud and stoic beneath a full mane of horns—his eyes glowed with an unholy light.

Just as Titan had said, the Infernian had fallen to the scourge. And Ardyn held his leash.

Regis dropped from the sky as Shiva rose higher. He had led his friends and companions into a war of gods and left them standing below, and yet he could not very well take them out of it now. If he fled from this fight, he allowed potential allies to turn upon each other and destroy any hope of peace. He had come too far. Ardyn could not be allowed to lay waste to his plans.

Nor could he be allowed to turn his back on Regis.

As his feet touched the ground, his retinue surged forward to meet him, all standing with weapons drawn, save Sylva who stood as far back from the conflict as terrain allowed.

"I fear my plans have gone rather awry," Regis said.

"That's what happens when you make friends with a madman," said Cor.

Perhaps he was right. Nevertheless, they would persist on this path. He could think of only one way to put an end to the clash above them, as Gods fought Gods. He fixed his eyes on Sylva.

"Sylva. I must beg your aid once more."

She took a step forward, casting a wary glance up as flames roared overhead. "I have no notion of how I might help, but if I can…"

"The Infernian," Regis said. "Can you save him?"

Her eyes widened. "Cleanse a _God_?"

"He has the Starscourge—a corruption he will never recover from. Only two ways out exist: death, or healing at the Oracle's hand. His death will bring nothing but war and strife."

"I don't know," she admitted. Her face hardened. "But I can try. If I can get near enough. I will need to lay my hands upon him."

A tall order, to be certain. Regis turned his eyes skyward, where Shiva and Titan battled Ifrit and Ardyn. Despite his obvious animosity toward them, both Shiva and Titan seemed disinclined to do any true harm to Ifrit. Perhaps that could be their saving grace.

Regis held out his hand to Sylva. "Then let us fly."

And fly they did. Once she had taken hold of his hand, he pulled her near enough to take hold of her with his magic and extend the weightlessness of the Armiger to her as well. Though she startled when their feet left the ground, to her credit she did no more than squeeze his hand more tightly.

They rose high in the air, above the quaking ground, to where the blizzard raged and fire rained down. The battle was punctuated by the enraged roars of Titan and the sharp, malevolent laughter of Ardyn.

"Will the Glacian aid us?" Regis asked.

Usually an endless well of answers, the Oracle was out of her depth in this war of Astrals and daemons. She shook her head. "I don't know."

Had she even known that Gentiana and the Glacian were one and the same? How long had the supposed Messenger lived under her roof? Nearly as long as Lunafreya had been alive. Had she always been a disguise of the Glacian's, or had the Astral taken refuge in another body once her own was destroyed by Niflheim?

More questions than he could answer right now.

"Then let us assume not but hope for the best," Regis said.

He flew them nearer the conflict, taking care to keep them beyond the reach of Titan's grasping hands and off the path of Ifrit's blasting flames. They could not, however, keep their distance from the blizzard if they wished to beg Shiva's aid.

The air grew colder. It whipped in sharp, howling blasts around them like an angry beast. All at once Regis was sorry he had lost so many layers of his clothing on the trek down the crater. They might have prevented the numbing chill from seeping so quickly into his bones. As it was, the freezing air slapped against the bare skin of his arms and face, rising gooseflesh across his body and stealing away all semblance of warmth. In moments his hands were burning cold, still clutching Sylva's icy fingers. In a few more, he could feel them not at all.

In the heart of her storm, visibility was reduced to nothing. He could scarcely see Sylva on the end of his arm, let along search for the Glacian. Movement caught his eye. Perhaps it was a mere figment of his imagination, but he thought he spotted icy blue skin through the frost.

"Glacian!" Regis shouted over the howling blizzard—or tried to, though the wind seemed to whip his voice from his throat and steal it away. "Shiva! Hear me!"

They hovered, adrift and struggling not to be buffeted by the winds and knocked from the sky altogether, while he strained to hear any response, save the howling blizzard.

" _The Father King is heard."_

The voice was Gentiana's—so near and so quiet she might have been whispering in his ear. He spun to look over her shoulder, but she was nowhere. Or else she was everywhere in this storm. It mattered little. All he needed was to be heard for a few moments.

"If you truly wish an end to the Infernian's suffering, then aid me. Help me bear the Oracle near enough to lay hands upon him."

For a time his words were met with nothing but the howling of the storm. His limbs ached in the cold and he fought to keep his teeth from chattering. The shivers that ran through his body, however, were unavoidable. He could only be thankful that his clothing had all dried during the hike down the crater.

At last the reply came.

" _The scourge that grips the Infernian is powerful and deeply seated. To banish it will require overcoming the strength of the Corrupted's will. Is the Oracle willing to pay the price?"_

"If I can set this one thing right on Eos and pave the way to an alliance and a brighter future… then I am willing to give whatever it takes," Sylva said.

" _Then the Glacian will aid you."_

The whipping of the storm around them faded and died. All at once they were plunged back into the heat of the meteor. In comparison to the freezing cold, the air outside burned and seemed to eat away at his skin.

Overhead, Shiva turned circles in the air, no longer embodied as a single being, but fully half a dozen identical Glacians. Together they dodged a blast of fire and a swing of Ifrit's blade. They swarmed about him, once more summoning a blizzard, though this time the ice was localized around the Infernian alone. He roared senseless fury and swung at them, but his movements were slow. Sluggish. His blackened skin turned frosted white. And he stopped, mid-swing, his face contorted in fury. Frozen solid.

All six incarnations of Shiva turned to face Regis and Sylva.

" _The Oracle must work quickly."_ Again her voice sounded as near as if Gentiana stood beside him, though none of their mouths moved.

Regis had thawed enough in the heat of the air to move his limbs once more. Though his skin still burned unpleasantly at the rapid changing of temperature, he urged them forward. The air new Ifrit was cold, but not bitingly so. He brought Sylva near enough to touch the frozen Infernian.

"Land me on his shoulder. It will take some time and you cannot hold me aloft all the while," she said.

Regis nearly objected but bit back a retort. Much as he was disinclined to leave her standing on a frozen Astrals' shoulder, the alternative left him crippled in his ability to protect either of them. He did as she asked and rose up, twisting in mid air to keep his eyes on Ardyn.

If any of this worked, the Astrals perhaps would be calmed. If he was very lucky they might even be swayed to his side. But how was he to reverse damages with Ardyn? He could not very well cut ties and let it be. If the Draconian was ever to be defeated, they would need each other. And that, perhaps, was the pivotal point upon which a renewed alliance rested.

It did little good to postulate now, given the uncertainty of any outcome. For the moment, Ardyn was engaged with the Archaean. While Shiva held Ifrit encased in ice, Ardyn had renewed his efforts to corrupt Titan. The blackened patch on the Archaean's hand had faded back to neutral stone, as if true corruption required prolonged contact to take hold in an Astral. That would explain, then, Ardyn's steady approach toward Titan, weaving and dodging around the Archaean's fist as he drew ever nearer to his body.

"Quickly, Sylva," Regis called. If Ardyn was given the opportunity to corrupt Titan while they cured Ifrit, all would be for naught. They would be landed back precisely where they began.

"A little more time…" Her voice came out strained and cracking.

He looked down and found her with both palms pressed flat against Ifrit's frozen flesh. Shiva's ice was creeping up her wrists, but that was not all.

Black ran in her veins.

She had said she would pay any price to pave the way to his peace. Had she meant her life? Had he asked her to give up her life for this? And if he had known it was so, would he have done anything else?

Questions better left for another time.

" _The Father King must buy the Oracle more time,"_ Gentiana whispered.

Regis set his jaw and pushed himself higher in the air, drawing nearer to Ardyn and the enraged Archaean.

"Ardyn!" Regis shouted from just beyond Titan's reach. "Enough. Corrupting the Astrals will not bring you nearer to the justice you seek."

"Justice?" Ardyn twisted in the air, and yet, despite that, managed to drop just beneath Titan's swinging fist as it passed him. "Who ever mentioned justice? What I want is revenge. Revenge on the Draconian. Revenge on his kin, who hold the ties of the Scourge. Revenge on his puppets, who follow in the light of the crystal without thought or question. And, barring that, as my brother is dead… I will simply have revenge on the last of his bloodline."

Titan swung a grasping hand for Ardyn, forcing him to roll to one side to avoid being crushed in a rocky palm.

"If you take your revenge on me, there will be none left to aid in your revenge against the Draconian," Regis said.

"Are you not listening? If I corrupt the Astrals, I will have all the power I need to face Bahamut."

"And yet, you cannot. For if you kill me, two Astrals will be lost to you. Ramuh and Leviathan are bound to me—and only to me. If I die, so too do they." Regis gathered up all he knew of this man—this daemon—and took a leap. "And if you kill the last of the Caelums, there will be no one left to take you to the Beyond."

If nothing else, it gave Ardyn pause. Regis pressed on, offering a silent prayer to anyone listening.

"The purpose of the Chosen King: to bring an end to the darkness by silencing your cursed existence. Without Caelum blood to spill, you will be trapped in this deathless purgatory forevermore. But if you stand with us, we can work something out."

From below them came an unearthly roar. Regis hazarded a glance downward to see Ifrit breaking free of Shiva's ice with Sylva still clinging to his shoulder. His thawing skin was less blackened—the corruption was localized now near the shoulder on which Sylva stood—but he was not cured.

Before Regis could think to swoop to her rescue, Ardyn was before him, so near that their Armiger blades passed through each other.

"So. You would steal my little pet from me, would you? Some ally you prove yourself to be," he said.

"I will do what I must to bring peace to this war you have created," Regis said. "But for the breaking of our alliance you have only yourself to blame. If you desire any sliver of this peace I strive for, then lay down your arms and stand with me."

"I will stand on no side that contains my brother."

"Is your spite so strong that you would allow it to curse you further?" Perhaps it was a foolish question. Spite. Spite was all he had left in him. Spite had driven him to what he was now.

But that wasn't quite true, was it? Something else was buried, perhaps quite deeply down. Reina had caught sight of it when she Dreamed at his behest.

"I know you still remember a time when you held happiness," Regis said. "Has my daughter not made that all the sharper for you?"

"Everything is tainted by betrayal," Ardyn spat.

"Only if you allow it to," Regis said. "What happiness did she bring you back to? What life did you relive that was so intense you willingly walked into destruction after?"

For but an instant something showed through on his face—a distant stare, so far removed from any expression Regis had seen from him thus far that he seemed almost transformed into someone else. But only for an instant. Then his features hardened as hatred overcame whatever sweetness he had scented.

"Something too pure to put into words," Ardyn said. "One more peace Somnus shattered with his sword."

"Those memories are still there. You can revisit them at any time."

Ardyn fixed him with a bottomless glare. But a smirk broke through. "Or I could relive them."

Miasma began to swirl around him. Too late, Regis realized what he had done. After drawing all conflict away from Insomnia and his children, somehow he had contrived to send it back to them.

"Ardyn—! Leave my daughter out of this!" Regis surged forward, reaching out to grasp Ardyn's coat.

All he caught were handfuls of black mist as Ardyn dissolved. He swore. He was not even bound to Reina any longer. He could not hastily weave some protection for her. He had none to give. And he could not well return to Insomnia until the matter of the three Astrals was settled.

As if to give proof to his thoughts, a scream sounded from below. An entirely human scream.

Sylva.

He dropped into a dive, making for the Infernian. Ifrit was frozen once more; in an effort to remain fixed to him, Sylva had wrapped one arm around the nearest horn. In doing so, she had made it impossible for Shiva to avoid freezing her to him. Fully half her body was encased in ice; her arms were connected to the Infernian and frozen solid up to her elbows. Beneath ice and deadly pallor, Starscourge ran black in her veins. It dripped from her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her ears. And still he could feel her magic pulling more of it.

"Sylva!"

"Stay back, Your Majesty… you must be out of harm's way… if he breaks free again…" Her voice came out strained and thready with pain. Just those few words seemed a struggle to tear from her throat.

Against his will, he did as she requested. She struggled to draw every breath, fighting and crying out against the scourge, which even her light could not cleanse quickly enough. Her magic was distinct from his, yet if he strained he could sense her motions. She gave one final heave and, like a frayed rope snapping, her power broke free of the Infernian.

And Sylva fell limp, held upright only by the ice that froze her against Ifrit.

Regis lurched forward, but Shiva was beside him—or one of her was—and she held out an arm to stop him. Second by second the ice thawed, sublimating into a chill mist and bringing color back to the Infernian. The ice holding Sylva to him faded away, but though she slumped and began to slip away from his horns, he reached up to catch her, holding her gently in both hands and lowering her to the ground.

Shiva—all half dozen incarnations of her—shot forward to spin circles around the healed Infernian. The earth had stilled as even the Archaean watched Ifrit lay Sylva on the stone and kneel beside her. Regis could wait no longer. He shot down to the earth, landing in the crater beside her.

The mere look of her made him disinclined to search for a pulse. Her skin was deathly pale beneath a spiderweb of black veins. If she breathed, he could not tell. Nevertheless, he dropped to his knees beside her and pressed two fingers to her neck. Her skin was icy cold. And yet, against all odds, he felt a faint and thready pulse.

"She's alive," he said, half for his own benefit, half for that of his divine audience.

The sound of several thundering footsteps approached from behind him. Without looking he knew it was his retinue, come to stand at his side. They slowed and stopped short, just out of reach.

" _The Oracle and the Father King have given much to return The Infernian to us."_ Half a dozen Shivas stood or sat spread across Ifrit's shoulders and horns. But her voice still sounded in his ears. " _Only one boon is fit to give in return. For the cleansing of Ifrit, the Archaean, the Infernian, and the Glacian pledge themselves to the Father King. Against the Draconian we will stand. And when all is through, we will leave."_

And that was everything he had come for. Though at what cost, he was not yet sure.


	57. The Price

As soon as the doors were shut and the key in the ignition, Regis had his phone from his pocket and Crea's number dialed. He sat forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, and waited. It seemed a lifetime before she answered.

" _Regis! Thank the Gods—"_

"Pray, do not," Regis said. If not for them, he would never have been in this mess. "Is Reina alright?"

" _Why—yes, why wouldn't she be?"_

Regis permitted himself an ounce of relief, for all he had clung to tension and fear during their climb from the crater.

"Ardyn has vanished with a foreboding threat." Or else it had been not quite a threat, which made it all the more worrisome.

" _I see. And you think he'll come after her?"_

"I don't know. But keep her in your sights and call me immediately should anything occur."

" _I will."_

"Warn her, as well. Let her know he may well try to pull her back into Dreams with him."

Would she go willingly if Ardyn asked? Regis had no notion. These days he seemed utterly unable to predict her behavior.

" _Alright."_

"And tell her—beg her, for me—not to do anything rash," Regis said, aware of the desperate note that crept into his voice. "That is all for now. We make our way back to Insomnia. I shall see you soon."

The return journey to Insomnia was silent and tense. Gentiana's absence had left them with one fewer passenger, and so Sylva had been laid across the rear seat of the Regalia. Weskham drove, while Regis sat sideways in the passenger side seat and stared back at her, as if keeping his eyes on her would somehow keep her alive. The others followed in the second car.

Insomnia was too far a drive. Even if the roads had been in proper working order, it would have taken two hours to reach the Crown City from the Disc. And if they did arrive with Sylva still miraculously alive, what then? There was no treatment for her in his city. _She_ was the healer, gods damn it.

And yet, he wore the Ring of the Lucii, did he not? There had been kings before him blessed with healing hands. The soul of the Oracle King himself resided in the ring on Regis' hand. The power of kings might sustain her, if not cure her. But it did not come so cheaply as the power he had once called his own—to channel the souls of the Lucii could scorch a king and turn him to ash from the inside out. But it would have to be relied upon, nevertheless. He had none of his own.

Once more he reached for the souls of the Lucii, focusing in and down until he seemed almost to drop out of his body and into the In Between. Somehow it had become almost second nature to reach this world between worlds, when once it had been a place he sought only in dreams.

The kings came willingly to his call. But it was not a circle of faceless statues that surrounded him, leering down this time. They appeared as kings, not symbols, taking their lead from Somnus' choice to reside in his body of once upon a time.

And so for the first time he found himself standing in a crowd of a hundred kings—and some few queens—surrounded by faces he scarcely recognized, though many of them held his eyes or his nose or his chin. For a moment he was struck speechless by it. Then he recalled his purpose here.

"I need your aid," he said, "To heal one who has saved us all."

For without the return of the Infernian, would the Glacian ever have joined them? Would the Archaean ever have calmed?

He shared his memories with them, pouring out every instant of recollection from the last few hours of his life—and more. Everything he knew of Sylva.

"Only the Oracle and the light of the crystal, summoned by the True King, can cure the Starscourge." The king who stepped from the crowd was taller than his peers, and lithe. He wore his long hair loose about his shoulders, but not untidily so. A dual-sided crown, half of wings, half of horns sat upon his head.

"But you bear the power of the Oracle, Caliean," Somnus said. "And therefore, so too does he."

"I do." King Caliean, the Oracle, turned his unwavering gaze on Somnus for but a moment before his eyes returned to Regis. It was a Caelum stare like none he had ever been forced to contend with. "But you must know, young king, that the power channeled from beyond the grave does not come freely. Not even for those of royal blood. It will scorch you. And scar you. It might even kill you, if you drink too deeply."

With each word he stepped nearer to Regis and the crowd of kings seemed to back away, leaving them alone in the center. Not once did Caliean blink. The bodies of the In Between had precisely the limitations that were imagined for them and he had ceased to be human so long ago that even the reflex to blink his eyes had vanished in time.

"But can it cure her?" Regis asked.

"To ask what the ring can do is meaningless without first stating how much you are willing to pay."

"If I said everything?" Regis asked.

"Then your answer would be everything," Caliean said. A placid smile twisted his lips. "But you are not willing to give everything."

"No." He could not. Whatever he did or did not owe to Sylva, he could not give everything to buy back her life. If he sacrificed himself for her, everything she had fought for would have been pointless. Without him, five of the Six would be gone, but the last would reign on. Perhaps he would scorch the life from earth in his cleanse of the scourge, as he had threatened.

No, Regis could not die for her.

"To cure her would consume your life," Caliean said. "And so it cannot cure her. But it might, perhaps, sustain her until another can lay hands on her."

"There are no others. She is the only healer in Lucis," Regis said.

"Is she?" Caliean's smile quirked again. "Sixteen is not so young. Lunafreya is all but prepared to take up her mother's mantle."

Lunafreya. Of course. How had he forgotten? She was so quiet and mild mannered about the Citadel, hardly ever crossing his path. Somehow he still thought of her as the little girl whom Noctis had been enamored with. But she was hardly a girl anymore.

"And what will it cost to sustain her?" Regis asked.

For what remained of the drive, Regis was far from cognizant. By simple logic, he knew hours must have passed from the time when he clambered into the back seat of the car to cram himself onto the floor behind his seat and the moment when the Regalia doors opened and hands grasped his shoulders. But while he channeled the magic of the Oracle King, time twisted and lost all meaning.

"Regis?" The hands on his shoulders were Clarus'. "How are you feeling?"

His skin had gone as numb and cold as Sylva's. He blinked and the world came into sharper focus: though Sylva looked no less near to death, her chest now rose and fell with comforting consistency. Regis' hand, still resting upon her shoulder, was criss-crossed with glowing blue lines, as if his skin itself had cracked and the magic inside showed through. He little liked to think what his face must have looked like. Yet even as he watched, the light faded and dimmed and his skin was whole once more—though faint white lines traced the places where magic had once shone through.

"Regis?"

Clarus had asked him a question, hadn't he? Regis couldn't find enough working pieces of his brain to recall what it was, much less think of an answer to it. He seized the back of the passenger side seat and hauled himself to his feet. Or he tried to. In reality it took more than a little help from Clarus to see him vertical and out of the car. Even then he swayed and leaned heavily upon his Shield's shoulder.

"Have her taken back to her rooms," Regis managed, "And summon Lunafreya."

If Caliean was correct, Luna was the only hope now for her mother. For Regis had already given all he was willing and able to give.

"She's here." Cor was at his other side, looking up toward the Citadel steps.

Regis followed his gaze to the top of the stairs, where both Noctis and Lunafreya had appeared. They paused for but a moment before Luna came racing down the steps, taking them two at a time. Noctis hurried after.

Regis moved to take a step back and realized he was very much at Clarus' mercy here. It would take more than one shoulder for him to reach the upper levels. He motioned to Cor and leaned on both of them, trusting them to bear him away from the open Regalia door and allow Lunafreya to reach her mother.

"Mother!" Luna dropped to her knees outside the Regalia and immediately laid hands on Sylva. "What happened to her?"

When Regis failed to put words together quickly enough, Clarus responded in his stead.

"Your mother has healed an Astral of the Starscourge. I fear I understand little more than that, but in so doing, she was more than once frozen by the Glacian," he said.

"Can you heal her?" Regis asked. "I have done all I can for her. It is beyond my power to save her."

Lunafreya looked up at him for the first time since her arrival. Her eyes flicked over his unkempt appearance. He was doubtless a sorry mess, but she smiled nevertheless.

"But you have, King Regis," she said. "You have returned her alive. Yes, I can heal her, though it will require time."

She rose to her feet and shook out her skirt. Her eyes swept the assembled few and landed on Weskham. "Master Armaugh, if you could assist me in gathering some able bodied people—we will need to make a stretcher for her."

"Of course, Lady Lunafreya." Weskham bowed his head and, with one regretful glance toward Regis, he turned away to see to her instructions. And with little more ceremony than that, Lunafreya took charge of the situation, leaving Regis to hobble up the stairs between Clarus and Cor.

They paused when they reached Noctis at the bottom of the steps.

"Dad." He stared up at the three of them, wide-eyed and looking much younger than twelve. "Are you alright?"

Regis winced. He did his best not to appear battered and beaten before his people—let alone his children—but there was no helping this.

"I will survive, my son." And that was the best he could say for the moment. "Your sister?"

"She's fine," Noctis said, in a why-wouldn't-she-be tone. "Upstairs, last time I saw her."

Regis exhaled and deflated a few more inches between Clarus and Cor. He nodded, eyes shut. "Then upstairs we will go."


	58. On Waking

He slept the black and dreamless sleep of the dead.

When his head had touched the pillow, it had been full night. He opened his eyes not a minute later to the evening sun pouring in through his bedroom window. He had not moved from the sprawling position that he had first landed in.

His mouth was drier than Leide. He rolled onto his back and glanced toward his bedside table for any hint of a glass of water set out for him. A hand floated into view, holding just such a glass. A lovely hand. Though not, perhaps, so lovely as the woman it was attached to.

He smiled stupidly up at Crea. "Good morning."

"I'm afraid you've missed that by a day and a half," she said.

Regis propped himself up on one elbow and took the glass of water. He had drained nearly all of it before her words sank in.

"A day and a half?"

"Yes. You slept through a whole day and then some. After everything, I admit I was worried—"

"Sylva?"

Her smile wilted around the edges. "She hasn't woken up, and I'm afraid there's little more I can tell you. Noctis is sulking because Lunafreya is busy at her mother's side, Ravus has been frequently absent as well, and Weskham has stopped in a few times to say there's been no visible improvement."

But she was alive. Regis dropped back onto his pillows and stared at the ceiling overhead until Crea sat down on the edge of his bed and gathered up his hand in hers.

"I'm glad you're awake."

He squeezed her fingers and offered her a smile. "I am glad to wake to you."

She leaned closer and kissed him so gently that he couldn't help but crave more.

"It's only been two days and I'm already tired of ruling a kingdom," she said.

"Is _that_ all you want me awake for?"

"Mm. At least sixty percent of it."

"And the other forty?"

"Well it's nicer to kiss you if you kiss me back." And she did so to illustrate her point.

He would accept forty percent worth of that.

She did not, however, give him long to appreciate it.

"As much as I would like to stay here forever, or else crawl in with you, I told Noct and Reina that I would let them know as soon as you woke," she said. "I'm sure you'll want to see them as well."

He did, without a doubt. Though he would have been hard pressed to choose, at that precise moment, whether he would have preferred to see his children immediately or go on kissing Crea for but a little while longer. Thankfully, she did not ask him to make that choice. Already she had made her mind up for him.

"I'll go tell them."

"A moment," Regis said. "It occurs to me that, having slept for two days and—before that—having hiked to and from the meteor, I am likely in a poor state to receive guests. How much a mess do I look?"

"No more than normal," Crea said.

He gave her a flat stare. "I will be sure to pass your comment on to Weskham."

He had vague memories of having managed to wipe away most of the soot—largely with Crea's help—before falling into bed, but it had been far from a proper shower.

"You may tell them I will see them in thirty minutes." He hauled himself out of bed. She had managed to pull his soiled clothes off of him, though he could not recall if that had happened before or after he had fallen asleep. "That shall give me time to make myself somewhat presentable."

Nevertheless, she followed him as he stepped into the bathroom to take a look at himself in the mirror.

The first thing he noticed was the scar. A pale pink line of smooth skin twisting around his right eye. He lifted one hand to trace it.

"Weskham said it was from the ring." Crea came to stand beside him, expression grave. "He said when you were keeping Sylva alive, there was so much power pouring through you that it cracked your skin and bled out."

He dropped his eyes to his hands and bare arms, where he had watched the cracks heal and mend in his own skin. Every hint of the pale white lines had faded. That was one blessing at least. But if only one spot had been deep enough to scar, did it truly have to be across his face? He was not a vain man, but appearance was an essential part of his position as king.

"And no one thought to tell me?" He asked.

"I assumed you knew when I first saw you. Anyway, it seemed insignificant next to everything else going on…"

Clarus should have told him, at least.

But no. Crea was right. In the midst of everything else, a scar was inconsequential.

He leaned forward to look at it more closely in the mirror, tracing the line around his eye with one finger. Before his father had died, he had developed a similar mark up the left side of his neck. A lifetime of using the ring and upholding the Wall took its toll in both great and subtle ways.

Regis sighed. "Likely I would have had one before the end in any case, if the Wall had not come down."

Crea shifted near enough to take his hand and meet his gaze in the mirror. "It doesn't change how handsome you are, if that's what you're worried about."

He turned to look at her and, despite all, a smile tugged at his lips. Most of all he was concerned that it would change perceptions of him—hers and others. But he could see the earnest admiration on her face as she reached up to touch the scar.

"You saved her life," Crea said. "If anything, you should wear that proudly."

She was forced to stand on her toes to kiss him.

"Go get cleaned up," she said. "I'll tell the twins you're awake."

"Wait—Crea—" Regis caught her hand before she could step too far away. "Does Reina know of this?"

Noctis, at least, would. He had been on the Citadel steps when Regis had arrived. He wanted little to shock his daughter with a newly scarred face.

"She's seen you," Crea said. "She came in here not long after you collapsed on the bed."

"I see." He wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that. He released Crea's hand and she moved once more for the door.

"Send Avun to me," he said, before she was out of sight. "Or Weskham. Whoever is available. I could do with a clean suit and a breakfast tray."

"It's nearly dinner time, Regis."

"A dinner tray, then."

She smiled and shook her head. "I'll see what I can do."

And she was gone, leaving him to step into the shower and wash away the soot and sweat and saltwater. He discovered numerous half-healed cuts across his hands and forearms along with several bruises as he did so. He had no recollection of having collected them. But stone and ice had been flying indiscriminately through the air. He must have been hit more than once without taking note.

When he emerged, it was to find a fresh suit laid out for him. Wes appeared not long after to make him look presentable and did an extraordinary job of accomplishing that with so little to work with. Whatever Crea had said, he did not look a mess after his steward had finished with him. He wiped a patch of the mirror clear of fog and peered at his now-clean face. A few cuts mirroring those he had found on his hands and arms littered his face, including a prominent one across his cheek. He had been so preoccupied by the scar that he had hardly noticed before. Well. There was nothing for it. If Reina and Noctis had already seen the worst of it.

He was tempted to fall back into bed—even this short time upright had reminded him that he was far from fully recovered—but Wes had already ordered servants to strip the sheets and they had not yet been replaced. After dinner, perhaps.

In his private lounge, he found that dinner had indeed been laid out of him and sent up on a tray. After two days abed, he might have eaten an entire garula, but he would make do with the steak and salad for now.

Once he had dined and was seated in his usual armchair with a fire in the hearth and a glass of wine within reach, Weskham moved for the door.

"Shall I tell them you're ready to see them?" He asked.

Regis motioned for him to do so and but a minute later both his children had streamed into the room.

"Father!" Reina near flung herself upon him, forcing him to catch her and pull her into his lap to hug her.

Noctis was more restrained.

"Hey Dad." He dropped onto the couch across from them and began picking through the fruit bowl on the coffee table. "Feeling better?"

Most anything would have been an improvement from the way he had felt when Noctis had last seen him.

"Much better," Regis said. "And better still for seeing both of you."

They sat in silence. Noctis peeled an orange and left little bits of it on the coffee table. If he was going to eat nonstop, he could have chosen worse snacks.

It seemed much too long since the three of them had simply sat together. Though the betrothal ceremony had been only a few days ago and they must have spent plenty of time assembled in the days leading up to it. Though not, perhaps, in this fashion.

"I must apologize for how the ceremony ended," Regis said. At the time, the betrothal had been the furthest thing from his mind. But it had never finished. After all that excitement, she was not yet betrothed. "Perhaps it can be rescheduled."

"Oh." She looked down at her hands and twisted her fingers together. "Yes. Maybe."

Regis raised his eyebrows. "Unless you would prefer it was not?"

She did not meet his gaze. "I don't know."

"Has something happened between you and Ravus?" Regis asked.

She looked up. "No, it isn't that. He's been very kind—but of course very worried since his mother… But no. I… I still like him."

Noctis turned to lay sideways across the couch, throwing his legs over one arm. "More like something happened with Ignis."

"Ignis?" Regis asked.

Reina's cheeks tinged pink and she glanced away from him.

"What have I missed?" Regis looked from Reina to Noctis and back.

"Ignis said he _loves_ her and doesn't want her to marry Ravus," Noctis said.

"He did not!" Reina, now properly red-faced, glared at her twin. "And it was just a betrothal!"

"Yeah, but that means you'll marry him."

"Well not right now! Maybe when we're older, but…" she glanced at Regis, true distress showing through embarrassment and outrage. "But I would have to, I guess, if we were betrothed…"

Regis cleared his throat. "Reina. Why don't you tell me what happened? Properly."

He shot Noctis a warning glare. Noctis, far from repentant, brushed his orange peels into a pile and picked up an apple.

Reina rubbed her cheeks. "Ignis did talk to me. But he didn't say the L word or anything like that, we just talked and some of it was about the betrothal…"

"And what did he say?" Regis prompted.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at a spot on the floor beneath the coffee table, refusing to make eye contact with either of them. "We talked about how we're good friends but he was sad that we haven't spent as much time together ever since Ravus came to live with us. And he said sometimes you don't understand how much you enjoy someone's company until it's gone. He said that if what I really wanted was to be betrothed to Ravus then he would always be a friend and a brother to me... " She tucked her chin and her voice went small and soft. "But that maybe… if I wasn't quite sure… he might like to be more than just a friend and a brother."

Regis suppressed a smile. So Ignis had at last found words to put to the feelings he had been sitting on for months. And in so doing had succeeded where Regis had failed time and again: in making Reina think twice about her future and what this betrothal might mean for her.

He smoothed her hair back, waiting for her to look up at him, which she did in time.

"I see," he said. "And so you have thought that perhaps you are _not_ quite sure after all?"

She nodded, eyes filling with tears. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"No, my dear." Regis brushed the tears away as soon as they fell. "It makes you a very grown-up person, who understands that a lifetime is a very long time, that people change a great deal between twelve and twenty, and that, perhaps, she should consider carefully more than just first feelings when making choices that will last."

She smiled shakily, though it wavered and faltered entirely in the next moment. "Do you think Ravus will be upset if I don't want to have a betrothal?"

"No. I think he will understand."

Perhaps he would even feel some measure of relief. Doubtless, his own feelings toward Reina were affectionate, but the adoration of a twelve year old to an eighteen year old was not the same as romantic attachment. There was no denying that his eagerness to maintain the betrothal had been pressured from all sides. Not least of which was a desire to remain in Lucis and out of his mother's reach.

"In any case, the absence of a betrothal will not prevent you from being friends with Ravus, nor from becoming engaged in the future, should you both come to that decision at a later time," Regis said.

This seemed to banish the last of her fears, for the smile that blossomed this time was true and unfailing. She leaned against him, putting her chin on his chest and staring up at him.

"I hope someday someone will love me as much as you love Miss Crea."

"Tch. Yeah right. As if anyone would love you," Noctis said.

She threw a shoe at him.


	59. A Child's Task

The world seemed to settle, eerily quiet. All the great players of this drama, stretched out over two thousand years had assembled and now they waited on the very brink of combat, waiting to see who would move next. On one side: Bahamut, the Draconian, with the might of a thousand blades and the light of a thousand stars behind him. On the other: Regis, standing triumphant ahead of the other five Astrals.

But one space on the board was conspicuously empty. And it had been since the day Ifrit had been cured.

Ardyn Lucis Caelum, the point from which all conflict stemmed, the heart of the Starscourge, was nowhere to be found. Searching for him was no easy task. The man seemed unconstrained by the usual bonds of the physical world. After leaving the Disc, he could have gone anywhere on Eos. Or off.

Nevertheless, Regis did search. At the very least, he set all eyes and ears in Lucis, Tenebrae, Accordo, and Niflheim on alert for him. When that yielded no results, he sought Ardyn in the one place he had no operatives or allies: the In Between.

Here they had spoken before, time and time again. Indeed, there even seemed enough of a connection between them that Regis had been capable of summoning him—or at least ringing the bell and requesting his presence. This time, however, his call went unanswered. Whether Ardyn had heard and ignored or the call had simply never reached him, Regis could only surmise.

"You'll not find him." Somnus—not the Mystic nor the king, but the man—stepped out of the darkness and into being.

"I must," Regis said. "For I dare not take another step without knowing where he stands. It would be foolish to strike at Bahamut with no notion of who stands behind me… and which of them hold daggers. Surely you have some connection to him. Can you not guide me to your brother?"

Somnus shook his head. "I fear not. He has hidden himself away. If there is one direction he would guard himself from, it is me. He has blocked me out. Cut off all ties that once bound us."

For a flickering of time, Regis wondered what might become of them if the bonds were reforged. If the two polar ends of power were reconnected, the positive and negative allowed to flow once more both ways, would the short of magic cause a blast akin to connecting high voltage to ground? Perhaps. Or perhaps nothing, save deeper self-loathing than already existed.

He had more important matters to worry about.

"You would be better off seeking him out yourself, if you have any trail to follow," Somnus said.

"Hardly a scent," said Regis.

And he did follow, as best he could. For a moment it seemed he might even have succeeded, when a faint presence in the distance indicated that he _was_ drawing nearer to Ardyn. But a faint presence was what he remained, never growing nearer, as if he stood at the end of an endless hallway.

And that, it seemed, was that. It was not that he could not be found, but that he did not wish to be found. Regis could call out into the void and hope his words found Ardyn's ears—and he did, in desperation, for he could think of nothing else to do—but it was impossible to say whether he was heard and ignored or not heard at all. He could sense Ardyn. Distantly. But that was the end of it.

"If I didn't know better, I would say he was sulking," Regis told Clarus one afternoon, after spilling out his frustrating attempts to reach Ardyn.

"He seems a petulant child," Clarus agreed. "Say we treat him like one. If Reina was sulking and refusing to see you, but you wished _not_ to make her more irritated, what would you do?"

"Send Noctis after her," Regis said. "But that is of no use. I have already spoken with Somnus to no avail."

"Do we know of anyone else who speaks with him? Hamon?"

"To my knowledge they have only spoken once and only when arranged by me. No, the only other person in Lucis who had contact with him as anything besides the imperial chancellor is Reina."

"Why not send Reina after him?" Clarus asked.

The suggestion settled in. Slowly. Reina was far more capable of traversing the In Between than he was. Indeed, she seemed to shape the place as second nature. She also had the benefit of having Dreamed alongside him. Perhaps that had given her some insight which would be useful in finding him.

"I should tell you I will not because she is a child and Ardyn is a dangerous man," Regis said.

"But?" Clarus said.

"But recently she has proved herself to be more than a child. And she has been learning how to deal with people of his sort for months now."

"Then you will ask her?"

A year ago he would not have. Whether that was a change in himself or in her, he could not have said. Perhaps it was both.

"I will."

He sought her that evening, pulling her aside from a game she played with Noctis, Ignis, and Crowe. They sat in the private lounge off his room, where they could speak without being overhead by guards or servants. Or he sat, while she stood before him.

"I have an important task to ask of you, my dear."

Had he been asked to guess what effect those words would have on her, he would well have missed the mark: though her eyes widened in surprise, she stood up straighter and allowed herself a pleased smile. Some fire of determination was kindled in her eyes.

"I must speak with the Burgundy Man," Regis said, "And yet he will not allow me to find him, nor hear my words. Do you think you can seek him in the In Between and attempt to convince him, in some way, to meet with me?"

Neither the excitement nor the pride faltered. She gave a brief moment of thought, considering whether she could, in fact, perform the task asked of her, before nodding.

"I can do that, Father. Though the results of no negotiation are certain, we can be confident of the strength of our offer and skill," she said, as if quoting.

"Master Hamon told you that?"

She nodded again.

He could have chosen a worse instructor for them, it seemed. But now it was time to put all to the test.

"Tonight," Regis said. "I will wait for you as I do when you Dream."

And so, that evening, after bidding goodnight to Noctis he pulled up a chair and sat down beside Reina's bed, just as he might for any lesson in Dreaming.

"Are you certain you are comfortable with this, my dear?" Though it had been he who had asked in the first place, he could not help but wonder if some desire to please him might apply enough pressure to overcome any misgivings she had.

"Quite certain, Father." Reina wriggled about to find the most comfortable place in her pillows and offered up a small smile. "Don't worry, Father. I can do this."

Then again, he had forgotten that Reina was nearly as likely to do something she knew would provoke him as would please him. To think that but a few years ago she had been a shy and reclusive girl, hardly willing to speak with anyone save Regis and Noctis. She had come a long way. And she could, without a doubt, do as she said.

Regis smiled and smoothed her hair back. "I know you can."

He kissed her forehead and settled in his chair to watch over her. It was more a formality than anything else; though it had not been spoken between them, both knew his lack of magic had severed both his connection to her and his ability to draw her out of the In Between. If she became lost, he had no notion of what he could do.

But she would not become lost.

In the first place, she was not even attempting to see the future or dive into the Black River. In the second, she had grown—not just in confidence, but in capability—and he believed that would be sufficient to guide her through this. He needed to believe.

He forced himself to wait patiently, though having no notion of where Reina was or what was occurring outside the physical realm made it a difficult task. He kept one eye on the clock to ground himself. Apprehension was a terrible thing; it could twist one's perception of time beyond all recognition. He refused to allow himself to consider what would occur if she spent longer than was safe in the In Between.

The minutes inched by. Some ten after she had fallen asleep, her bedroom door cracked open, allowing a stream of light to fall across her bed, illuminating Reina's peacefully sleeping form, as Crea slipped in. She laid her hand on his shoulder, though there was a nervous tremble in her arm as he covered her fingers with his.

He took her wrist and drew her into his chair, wrapping his arms around her. It would be a long wait, regardless of the time.

"She will be fine," Regis said aloud, half for his own benefit and half for Crea's. "She is growing into a capable young lady."

He dared not allow himself to dwell on precisely _how_ young she was. What-ifs and second-thoughts would get them nowhere. He trusted her. If he had not, he would never have asked this of her in the first place. She would do as she had said she would.

Crea's only response was to wrap her arms around his neck and lay her head on his shoulder. They waited that way for another twenty minutes, hardly moving.

Some time between the thirty minute and three-quarter hour mark, Reina stirred.

Crea sat upright and froze like a startled rabbit. Regis took a breath and held it. Motion was not always an indication of wakefulness, when Reina was in the throes of a Dream. Then again, she had not been Dreaming. Not truly.

Reina tensed, then stretched, and her eyes opened—slowly, as if she woke from a true sleep. Her eyes flicked toward him and she gave a smile, propping herself up on her elbows.

"He'll speak with you, Father," she said. "I can take you to him now, if you like."

"In the In Between?" Regis asked.

"Mhm. He's in an odd mood. Distraught, I would say. Or sulking."

The thought of Ardyn sulking was simultaneously alarming and amusing. What, precisely, did the soul of the Starscourge do when he was sulking? This, perhaps. Hide away in the dark realm between physical existence and death, and refuse to speak even to the allies he had forged to complete his ultimate goal.

"Then I suppose we must speak with him sooner, rather than later," Regis said. "As you were the one who arranged this talk, my dear, it is only fitting that you remain present for the negotiations that follow."

Reina brightened at this announcement, sitting up fully and beaming at him.

"Before we do so, there are some things you ought to know."

As briefly as he could, he relayed to her all the relevant information on the topic of his questionable alliance with Ardyn. Some of the information did not surprise her, and he suspected she had either Dreamed of it or learned of it directly from Ardyn. That Ardyn was in fact their 2000 year removed ancestor, that he had been betrayed by his own brother, and that the Starscourge—of which he had become a manifestation—stemmed first from the Astrals was all information she seemed not only comfortable, but entirely familiar with.

"Our goal, then, is to convince him to uphold his end of our bargain and stand against the Draconian so that everything we have fought for thus far can at last come to a close," Regis said.

Noctis would be free from his fate, Lucis would be saved from the Starscourge, and all of Eos would be spared from global extermination by a mad god. If they could stand to Bahamut.

Reina nodded once, staunch determination written across her face.

"Then let us begin," Regis said.


	60. Bargain

After some little shuffling of positions, Regis was soon dropping into the In Between alongside his daughter. She guided him through the dark, where blackness seemed to swirl like impenetrable fog in the unknown, and at last brought him to a place that might well have been the physical world.

They stepped out onto a grassy ledge beside a roaring waterfall, tucked away somewhere on a cliff face below a castle. Neither the location nor the architecture were familiar to Regis. But he stood in an un-physical body, dressed as he always was, in the shape Reina had chosen for him. He wondered at once what his face looked like, if Reina had been the one to imagine it. In her eyes, was he older or younger than in his? Did his face still sport the new scar from use of the ring?

He had no way to know.

Reina stood beside him, hand clasped with his, appearing several inches taller than she actually was. She had also chosen for herself a form that was older than her physical body. For a moment he wondered at what age truly meant to one who slipped so seamlessly through time, who could pass days within minutes, and who lived with one foot in a world he could hardly imagine. But they were not alone and he had no time to dwell on such things.

Ardyn sat just at the edge of the waterfall, leaning up against the rocks with one leg stretched out before him, the other bent up to serve as an armrest. Had Regis not known that Ardyn was their target, he would not have recognized him at all. Certainly, the person before them was not the chancellor of Niflheim, nor Ardyn Izunia as Regis had ever known him.

He was then, perhaps, Ardyn Lucis Caelum: a younger man, not so much in appearance as in demeanor, with long burgundy hair and a white shirt, which had grown damp from prolonged proximity to the waterfall. He wore a poet's look of anguish on his features.

Beside him was seated a young woman of roughly the same years. Fair of hair, bright-eyed, with a loving smile on her face as she looked up at him. But she was frozen, as if a statue. This was an image—a person—he had formed from his imagination, but no consciousness inhabited the body. She was as a doll.

"So. Brought the old man along, have you?" Ardyn stared up at them with a piercing yellow gaze that gave lie to his youthful features.

"We must speak, Ardyn," Regis said.

"Must we?"

"We made a deal. I have stood for my half of the bargain—allies have been assembled and we are prepared to strike out at Bahamut. It remains only for you to rise up to stand beside us."

"Bargains and deals—to hear him speak, one would think it was I, not he, who had transgressed and taken the hand of a sworn enemy."

The urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him was strong and growing. Sulking, as Reina had said. He had not believed it could be true at first.

"Somnus may be your enemy, but he is my ancestor and thus my source of power. An alliance—or lack thereof— with him was never a part of our bargain."

The peace of the grassy ledge was shattered by Ardyn's sudden shout. "He destroyed my life!"

Regis had not noticed the surrounding sense of birdsong until it was gone. All hint of breath in the air vanished and the temperate world became cold. Even the roar of the waterfall seemed to fade away, deadened. Muted.

The lifeless woman who sat beside Ardyn turned her gaze up toward Regis, but not with animosity. A pleading was on her face as crimson blossomed across the abdomen of her white dress and a line of blood dripped from her rosy lips. Regis stood, transfixed in horror, as she lifted a bloodied hand from her stomach and reached out with shaking fingers. He watched the last dying breaths of a woman he had never known, a memory summoned unwillingly from Ardyn's minds at the mere mention of Somnus. When she collapsed, she vanished, as if banished from Ardyn's mind.

What was Regis to say to that? That Somnus regretted the part he had played in making Ardyn into the monster he had become? That he wished to repent and make up for his sins? The vision of the woman's death left many questions unanswered, but enough holes were filled to take a leap: could Regis have forgiven a man who ran a sword through Crea's chest?

No. Not in any number of lifetimes.

And no amount of contrition would overcome the hatred that had bubbled in Ardyn's soul for two thousand years. That time spent on Angelgard had driven him mad with hatred and spite until there was nothing left but that flaming passion. Nothing Regis said would change it. After that vision, he wasn't certain he wished to change it. It was Ardyn's very existence and without it, what would he have been? A thought. An idea. A whisper on the wind.

While Regis struggled to find some words that would bridge the gap, Reina's hand slipped from his and she stepped forward.

"No," she said.

"No?" Ardyn seemed too stunned even to contradict her for a moment. But only a moment before his fury came back to him. "No?! You watched him betray me, Little Dreamer!"

"And I watched the crystal reject you," Reina said. "But you have no ire for the crystal, because you recognize it for what it was: a tool in the hands of another. Has it not occurred to you that your brother was the same?"

"Somnus is autonomous and cognizant. The crystal is a _rock_."

"There is no difference in the Draconian's eyes. To take hold of a stone and shape it is much the same as seizing a person and forging them into precisely what he needs them to be. The Draconian took your brother's mind and made him believe that you were twisted beyond salvation by the darkness. A stone cannot fight its own nature. Somnus was a tool, just like every Caelum after him has been. He even suspects it, but lacks the deeper understanding of Bahamut's twisted nature to make the final leap of deduction."

Regis stared at her. He had long since stopped watching Ardyn for reactions and fallen to gaping at his own daughter. When had she become the confident young negotiator who held insights he could only begin to grasp at? Surely this was not the same child he had fretted over mere hours before as he sent her off to speak with Ardyn.

He need never have worried. This world was her world, and here she was precisely what she had made herself: a competent princess whose knowledge and power granted her a firm grasp on any who wandered too close.

When Regis at last managed to pull his eyes from her, it was to see Ardyn regarding her with suspicion.

"I don't believe you."

"Then let him show you." Reina turned to look at Regis. "Call him, Father. Bring Somnus before his brother."

"Do not bring him here!" Ardyn was on his feet, his youthful features contorted in unnatural rage. Yet Reina continued to regard Regis.

If ever there was a time to place his trust in his daughter, this was it.

He reached out through the power of the ring and found the thread that bound Somnus to him. It required little more than that, for with that connection formed, Somnus came willingly—even eagerly—to face his brother.

Somnus stepped from the In Between into the bubble of peace that Ardyn had carved for himself. With the form he took and Ardyn as he was, it was impossible to miss the similarities between them. Brothers indeed, with no more doubt than one would have on seeing Reina and Noctis together.

Ardyn straightened, all hint of the sulking prince gone as he regarded the core of his spite. "Well, if nothing else, it gives me the opportunity to free your head from your neck."

He drew his blade, but before he could do more than that, Reina stepped between him and Somnus.

"No," she said. "You'll listen. Because somewhere deep inside you is a tiny piece that wonders what would happen if you were wrong. You have nothing to lose. If Somnus is a liar and a betrayer then nothing has changed. But perchance you discover something more. Something you never hoped to have because all happy memories of brotherhood and camaraderie have been buried beneath hatred."

Somnus reached around her and extended his hand to Ardyn. "Please, brother. Know my mind. And if yours remains unmoved, then sever my head from my neck as you please."

Ardyn, eyes narrowed, gazed between Reina, Somnus, and Somnus' outstretched hand. The silence stretched. And it was full silence now. The waterfall made not a sound, nor the river, nor the woods across it. Regis dared not move for fear of breaking whatever spell Reina had woven.

Time meant nothing here. They might have remained frozen in place for minutes or hours or years. All were interchangeable.

Ardyn released his blade and took Somnus' hand.

In a burst of magic, blue met crimson and melded into violet, an aura which surrounded both of them. Reina took several rapid steps backward and stopped when she had backed into Regis. Before them, brother stared at brother, one with a grimace of pain and anger and hatred, one with the anguish of regret. The violet light brightened, swelled, and burst, sending a near physical shockwave through the un-physical place.

Ardyn staggered backward two steps and slouched, doubled over with his hands braced on his knees, breathing as if he had run across the kingdom. Somnus took a single step forward and stopped abruptly, retracting an outstretched hand.

"Tool…" It was the first word from Ardyn, spoken as a wheeze as his breath came in starts. At last he straightened and fixed his gaze on Somnus. "Tool! You could have fought him! You should have fought him! For me!"

He lurched forward and slammed Somnus against the cliff face, holding him with one forearm locked beneath his neck. Somnus offered no resistance.

"If I had had even the slightest inkling that my thoughts were being manipulated, I would have, brother. But you have seen my mind. You know there was no hint, just simple and instantaneous belief, which I only questioned when it was far too late."

Ardyn slammed him hard against the stone, giving an animalistic growl. Then he released him, stepping back abruptly and turning his blazing eyes on Regis.

"You wish for the Draconian's death?" He asked.

"I do," Regis said, and meant it this time.

"Then make me one final bargain: After the Draconian is gone, you will end my life in whatever way is necessary."

Half a dozen thoughts raced through Regis' mind. If the prophecy and Bahamut were to be believed, the only way to end Ardyn's life was with Noctis'. He would not sacrifice his son's life. Not for the world. Not for anything. Could he make this agreement with the unspoken caveat that Ardyn's life would end in eighty or ninety years, when Noctis had lived a full life and was prepared to lay down his crown? In all technicality, it would not be a breach of the bargain Ardyn had spoken. Such a thing would occur _after_ the Draconian was gone.

But no. Regis trusted neither the prophecy nor Bahamut. In which case he could not trust that the only way to end Ardyn's life was with Noctis' death. But he had no time to search for an alternative way before committing to—or rejecting—this bargain. Reina had bought him this precious opportunity. Could he truly throw it away? Could he truly accept it on the off chance that he could discover an alternative in time?

Though all this rushed through his mind in less than a second, that instant opened a door he had not meant to reveal, and through it stepped Reina. Once more.

"When the Draconian is gone, your life will end by the very nature of the Starscourge," she said. "It remains only so long as its creators still exist. On Bahamut's death, the other five must be held to their word to leave Eos peacefully and the Starscourge will end. And your life will end." She turned to Regis. "You need only swear that you will hold the Astrals to their word or else sever them, Father."

This was a vow he could make, and without hesitation. All the more for Reina's unspoken assurance that it was a safe bargain without unexpected strings attached.

"That I swear." Regis held out his hand to Ardyn. After a brief moment, in which Ardyn considered Reina with curiosity, he took it.

"Then we have a bargain," Ardyn said. "Now then. Shall we kill the Draconian?"


End file.
